


Weeping Willow

by brb_screaming, VioletLopez



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, GENDERDYSPHORIAGENDERDYSPHORIAGENDERDYSPHORIAGENDERDYSPHORIA, Gender Dysphoria, Heavy Angst, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This is my child, WE CRAVE ATTENTION AND VALIDATION, and hock's too i guess, any of the good bits were written by walt, but it's gonna be LIT, but we've been working on this here fic for two months now, bye y'all have fun reading, give us attention and validation, lmao im not happy neither are my characters, oh also its gonna be a mess, ok look y'all, ok that should be it, thank them they're the literal best, theres gonna be laughter, theres gonna be love, theres gonna be memes, theres gonna be tears, they keep me from killing myself bless their little musical heart, this is gonna be a wild ride, this is my pride and joy, transgender character, we've only met in person once for a week and we spent the entire time planning it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brb_screaming/pseuds/brb_screaming, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletLopez/pseuds/VioletLopez
Summary: Connor leaned a little a farther forward. The waves below were churning. He envisioned what it might be like: slipping from the edge, plummeted down and down and down until his body collided with the water, swallowed by the great black void. Hands scrambling for a purchase in the water, air leaching from his throat, until his vision faded to black and he lost all feeling. He couldn't help but smile.What to do when you hate yourself? What to do when you realize why?





	1. Chapter 1

Connor was drowning.

Not physically, he had never been much of a swimmer, but despite his avid avoidance of the sport, his mind still took time to douse itself in waves of thought, crashing down onto him, pulling him farther and farther under in a riptide of destructive thoughts. He couldn’t breathe, the crisp fall air aiding only in making his cold sweat colder and his thoughts race to a faster pace.

It would be insanely easy to just fall over the edge. Then, maybe, his body would drown, finally matching his mind. He kicked his legs, letting his boots hit the railing underneath him. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was doing here now. He had stormed out in a hurry, not even bothering to make a coherent plan.

He was sure that he hated himself. That could be considered logical enough to be out here, dangling his legs over the rails of a bridge that seemed impossibly high, on a freeway that was desolately empty in this late night, the occasional car meandering through. Normally, he hated this fucking small town, but now, the solitude proved useful, giving him space to let his thoughts spread far and wide.

His hair blew in the wind, causing loose strings of his choppy bangs fall into his face. He retreated a hand from its tight grasp on the rail to tuck the loose strands behind his ear. He wobbled in his position, his stomach instinctively dropping to hit the water, jolting a wave of nausea through Connor’s body.

Then again, why was he so scared to fall? If there was no point, then why was he still here? It was insanely easy to slip and fall, be dead before he even hit the water. No one would care. He was sure his mother would cry, but was there anything Cynthia wouldn’t cry over? Zoe could finally assume her position as the Murphy’s golden child with no competition from Connor. And Larry? Larry wished he was dead the second he stepped out of the womb, the second he refused to go back to baseball practice, the second he failed his way through seventh grade and onwards. Connor still could feel Larry’s eyes on the back of his neck, daring him to ask, daring him to do anything that could constitute as delinquency, daring him to exist and express emotion.

Well, here Connor was, expressing so much emotion that Larry surely would have a heart attack if he knew what he was doing. Connor was just ruining their reputation, just a blemish on the Murphy family, a piece of bad fruit on the Murphy family tree, a piece of fruit ready to fall at any moment. He had been twisting at his branch for quite some time, waiting for the right moment to hit the ground. It could even be tonight, based on how well this was going. It would be easy to finally snap and let go.

Connor was already uncomfortable in his skin. His soul crawled underneath his frame, his tall form needlessly warped, his hair frazzled and unkempt. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he wasn’t grounded in his own body. He hated his figure, so unduly angled, with sharp edges and so broadly built. He had previously thought that his weight was the issue, but after most of middle and early high school spent starving himself, he had found that the previous weight had made his form softer, and it’s loss only made him more sharp and jagged.

Still, that feeling had never ceased, tirelessly beating after his mind, constantly trying to detach from the physical world. He found solace in very little places, but he could only think of one place that may even miss him.

Although Larry was convinced he was flunking his way entirely through school, there was one class that he couldn’t quite bring himself to fail. He had been put in advanced English classes as far back as elementary school, and, surprisingly, hadn’t been kicked out of them yet. When he was younger, his parents thought he was some big genius, arguing to get him put into as many special classes as possible, and this insistence had, rather unfortunately, translated into honors and advanced placement classes all through high school.

The only benefit to this was often the teachers, those who spoke to him as if he wasn't high or stupid, but even so, he was always viewed as inferior. Even with Mrs. Onera, the nicest teacher he’d ever had. He normally hated teachers, even the aforementioned good eggs, but he couldn’t bring himself to dislike Onera. It was practically impossible. Although, if he thought about it, she didn't care, Connor reasoned, she was just doing her job. Nobody cared about him.

If no one cared, why couldn't he bring himself to jump?

Connor leaned a little farther forward. The waves below were churning. He envisioned what it might be like: slipping from the edge, plummeting down and down and down until his body collided with the water, swallowed by the great black void. Hands scrambling for a purchase in the water, air leaching from his throat, until his vision faded to black and he lost all feeling. He couldn’t help but smile.

A form shifted in his peripheral. He had been on this bridge many times, yet he had never chanced upon anyone who chose to also sit at some obscene hour of the night. He turned his head, locking eyes with the figure. It stiffened, taking a step backwards as if guilty and wanting to escape. Why in the world was somebody anywhere near this bridge this late at night? Some god just had to be fucking with him, throwing obstacles in his way with reckless abandon.

“Who the fuck are you?” Connor asked harshly, his voice breaking the silence. The figure stepped forward, allowing some of it’s face to be seen in the light of a street lamp. Connor’s frown deepened. He recognized the kid - he was in Connor’s year at school. 

“Hansen?”

Evan swallowed hard. “W-What are you doing?” He asked. His voice seemed to be trembling, though if he thought about it, Connor couldn’t recall a time it wasn’t.

“What’s it to you?” He snapped. Hansen put both his hands up defensively, his blank cast shining brightly under the streetlight.

“Nothing, nothing,” he hurriedly responded, “I’m so sorry, I was just on a walk, and then my phone died so I didn’t have any light so I decided to keep walking until I hit a main road and then I saw someone on the bridge and I thought I should go and at least see if they-you-whoever was okay and I’m sorry I should go.” He stumbled over his words.

“Why the hell are you “on a walk” this late at night?” Connor demanded. If only Hansen wasn’t being such a freak, then Connor might have already fallen, might’ve already sunken into water and been submerged in darkness, the air ripped from his throat and replaced with the murky depths of the river.

“I-I could ask the same of you.” Evan voice slipped uneasily out of his mouth, and Connor’s stomach churned. A feeling of almost guilt had crept into his gut, twisting and turning. He was so close, and Hansen was here to ruin it for him. You can’t ever fail at dying, Connor thought, so why was he having such a hard time succeeding?

“Leave me the fuck alone!” he spat, grasping the rail tighter. Evan, who had been edging closer, jolted backwards, tripping and nearly falling into the road. From Evan’s distanced position, Connor could feel his eyes on the back of his neck, traveling down his spine and to the bars he was sat upon. There was silence for a minute before Evan spoke again.

“You’re gonna jump, aren’t you?” The kid sounded almost scared, and Connor frowned in a mixture of annoyance and confusion. Of course he was going to jump. Why did Evan fucking Hansen care? They weren’t friends. They never had been.

“Why does it matter?” Connor skirted around the question, not entirely ready to confirm the answer to the open night. Hansen was really starting to get on his nerves, and Connor could feel himself becoming more and more agitated.

“I-I well, I just… I can’t watch that, I can’t watch that happen to anyone, I-I just, I know what that feels like? I guess? You k-know, wanting to, to fall, and I don’t want you… to… do it?” Evan’s voice got weaker as he talked. “I… it’s not that we’re friends or anything, I don’t think you want friends, or maybe you do but I don’t know and I’m pretty sure you don’t like me so th-that’s not why I just don’t want to see someone jump, anyone jump.”

“What if I’m not going to?” Connor shifted himself forward slightly, so he was sitting on the very edge of the bridge.

“You are.” Evan said quickly. Connor heard him take a step towards him.

“No I’m not,” Connor countered, his tone blasé. 

“I can see you leaning over the edge,” Evan replied. His tone seemed almost desperate. “You want to jump.”

“Just because I want to doesn’t mean I will.” Connor almost smirked at the frustrated look on Evan’s face. Evan had begun fidgeting with his hands, and Connor could tell his anxiety was skyrocketing.

“Please Connor, just- just, come down?” Evan’s voice trailed upwards, making his phrase sound like a question.

Connor sat silently for a second, looking Evan in the face. He leaned backwards slightly, as if he would move away from the edge, but then he stopped and scooted even farther forward. “No.”

Evan looked like he would cry. “Goddammit, Connor! What’s the point in jumping?”

“What’s the point in not?” Connor’s harsh tone bit through the air. Evan didn’t have an answer, and Connor could see the panic in his face.

“B-but… you have a sister? Do you want to hurt her?” Evan’s voice had moved a few half steps upwards.

“Of course not,” Connor began. Sure, Zoe thought he was a bitch, and she was right, but Connor still couldn’t bear to see her hurting. Hope peaked in Evan’s expression. “That’s why jumping is an option.” The hope was crushed again. “Don’t play like you understand anything about me, Hansen.” he warned.

“I don’t,” Evan admitted. “But I know what you feel like. I-I-” He swallowed hard. “I know you f-feel like no one cares about you-”

Connor broke in with a frown. “I know no one cares about me. It’s been proven several times over.”

Evan hesitated. “W-well, um… it also feels like no one wants to get to know you? A-and I know th-that it seems like life just isn’t worth it because what’s the point if you’re all alone, and I know you feel like you’re never going to be able to do anything with your life because no one will ever want you or need you and so really you’re doing yourself a favor by falling because, hey, you’ll end up in the ground a-anyway, and so not jumping is just delaying the inevitable…” he trailed off. 

Connor had tuned out for the second half of Evans speech, but had begun to pay attention again after a break in the anxiety-ridden words. “I-it feels like you’re in a forest,” Evan continued softly. “You’re in a forest, in a tree, all alone. You’re sitting really high up in the tree, almost at the top, and when you look down at the ground, you wonder if maybe… if maybe it would be silent if you fell. If you screamed, it wouldn’t make a sound, because no one’s around to care…” 

“Real fucking specific, Hansen.” Connor muttered. Evan seemed to jump, like Connor had snapped him out of a memory or something.

“I-it was a metaphor!” He insisted, far too quickly. “I was just… hypothetically…” he trailed off again. It seemed like he did that a lot. Connor’s agitation had been building. The anxiety that practically hovered as a cloud around Evan was rubbing on his nerves. He had come to do one very simple thing, and, of all people, Evan fucking Hansen was stopping him. What Connor hated most about the situation, though, was that he was almost convinced it wasn’t worth it.

Almost.

At some point during the conversation, Connor had begun rocking. Not noticeably, but enough to catch Evan’s attention. He was quite enjoying the shift in his balance, not enough to fall yet, but inching there, second by second. “Y-you…!” His voice arched up in helpless panic as one of Connor’s hand slipped off the edge unexpectedly. There was a brief moment of panic, his gut plummeting downwards, before a calm numbness settled in, and Connor was ready to die.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this didn't get posted yesterday!

Connor could imagine himself falling as his mind floated above him, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was finally ready, he was finally going to succeed and prove that, if anything a Murphy always won. The waves were churning below him, ready to drag him into the depths as he slipped over the edge of the metal-

Until suddenly he wasn’t slipping anymore, and he was being jarred backwards to land on something… soft? He frowned and tried to sit back up, to push himself back over the edge.

“No!” Connor was shocked to stillness at the venom in Evan’s voice. “No, you are not going to fucking jump, Connor Murphy! I’m not letting you!”

“Let go of me!” Connor screamed, jerking himself in an attempt to break out of Evan’s surprisingly firm grip. He thrashed about, attempting to pull away, but Evan lay firm, the arm around Connor’s torso unmoving. He lay still, breathing heavily. “What the fuck, Hansen?! Why won’t you just let go of me? We both know you couldn’t care less if I’m around!”

“I already told you why. I’m not letting you off this bridge, goddammit!”

Connor grit his teeth. “Let go!” He jabbed an elbow backwards, digging it into Evan’s ribs. The blond let go with a pained gasp, clutching his stomach as Connor got to his feet. He looked around frantically, trying to find the edge of the bridge again. Evan lept to his feet, grabbing Connor by the back of his jacket.

“Get back here! Please-” his voice broke sharply, and Connor turned. “Please,” Evan begged, like he didn’t know what else to say. “Just… please.” Connor could see tears leaking out of the corner of Evan’s eyes, the shiny tracts glistening under the dim light.

  
“Please.” He sounded so broken, and that moved something in Connor’s chest. He recalled Evan’s words.

“I know what you feel like…”

“It wasn’t a metaphor,” he stated. Evan stared at him.

“Wh-what?”

“That dumb tree thing you were talking about earlier. It wasn’t a metaphor.”

“I-I- metaphor-tree-fall-cast-not-yeah?” Evan let out a mess of jumbled words that conveyed no meaning.

“What the hell are you saying?” Connor’s words had a bewildered and sharp edge. Evan blinked multiple times before his gaze hardened.

“Yes!” Evan finally snapped. “Yes, you’re right, it wasn’t a metaphor. I tried to kill myself. I climbed forty goddamn feet up in a tree and I let go and I didn’t bother screaming because no one would have heard anyway! Happy now?” A ringing silence enveloped them following the confession. For once, Connor was speechless. Normally he had some sort of comeback, a sharp-edged comment or a sarcastic quip, but Evan left him with nothing to say. “Th-that’s why I can’t… can’t watch you do the same thing.” Evan wasn’t looking at him, but Connor could see him blinking away tears.

Jumping didn’t seem quite as appealing anymore. He glanced back at the edge of the bridge and then back at Evan. Even if it wasn’t appealing to jump, he couldn’t think of a way to get back home without waking up Cynthia or Larry, and god forbid Larry find him sneaking back in at this hour.

Connor wrenched out of Evan’s grip. The younger boy’s mouth fell open, and his eyes filled up with panic again, but Connor spoke before any more anxiety-ridden words poured into the space between them.

“Let’s go, Hansen.” He wasn’t jumping. Not yet.

Evan nodded frantically, but he waited until Connor started walking to follow him, looking back at the bridge suspiciously. As Connor reached the road, he wondered if this had been the right choice. He should have jumped, right? He just shouldn’t have waited as long. He should have jumped. He had wanted to jump. He still wanted to jump. Why hadn’t he jumped?

Oh, right. Evan fucking Hansen had decided to swoop in and play the hero. Connor glanced at the boy next to him, who seemed to be shrinking in the harsh silence. Was staying alive worth it?

  
Connor wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t sure if dying was worth it either, and he wasn’t sure if it was a gamble he was willing to take. Evan had been leading the way most of their walk, and Connor hadn’t the slightest idea where they were going. The forested road had turned into a suburban neighborhood, and Connor wondered if Evan was taking him to the Hansen’s house, and, if so, what reaction would he evoke? A tall, terrifying teenager with a rat’s nest for hair and a faint smell of weed suddenly appearing in Evan Hansen’s small home. It seemed to be a recipe for disaster. Cynthia and Larry would flip their shit if any stranger showed up in their house, much less someone with a presence like Connor’s.

They turned into the driveway of a small house painted a faded blue color. Everything about Evan seemed to be blue, from his mannerisms to his dress and now, Connor could see, his house. Evan opened the door, motioning him inside.

  
“My uh, mom. She isn’t home yet, and you should probably sleep because it’s almost one in the morning and it’s been a long night.” Jesus Christ, how late did Mrs. Hansen work? Or was she one of those parents that spent ages in bars and other people’s beds? Connor decided he ought not ask, and simply nodded. It seemed the easiest course of action.

“Where should I sleep?” He asked, his voice listless. Evan froze mid-opening of what Connor presumed was his bedroom door.

“Uh… you can sleep in my bed and I- um, I’ll find somewhere to sleep,” he stuttered. Connor gave a short nod. He didn’t really care. He collapsed on the bed without taking off his shoes and was asleep almost straight afterward.

If he had been hoping for a restful night, he was sorely disappointed. He opened his eyes just as exhausted as before, climbing out of his bed. When did he get home? He shrugged it off. Everything was fuzzy, and he couldn’t quite tell why. His eyes landed on the mirror on the back of his door, and he stopped suddenly.

He… he wasn’t quite… him anymore. He looked like Zoe, or, at least his figure did, wearing a fitted pair of gray leggings and a long, loose white top. It didn’t faze him as much as it probably should’ve and he walked out of the door, descending the stairs in a flowy manner, the way he imagined Zoe must feel, with her loose garments and fitted angles. He smelled breakfast cooking, some sausage or bacon sizzling on the stove. When he stepped into the kitchen, Cynthia glanced up from where she sat sipping a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” she greeted with an overly bright smile, just like every morning. Connor couldn’t bring himself to glare quite as harshly as he normally did.

Larry was standing at the coffee maker, pouring himself a cup. “Oh,” he said in an uncaring tone, “the faggot’s up.” Connor’s insides crumbled as if he had just been punched in the gut. Larry turned to cast a glance over him, but turned around quickly, heaving a sigh. “I’m disappointed, I really am,” he remarked. “I can’t believe I ended up with a son like you.”

“Can’t believe I ended up with a father like you.” Connor’s sarcasm had an edge, and he could see Larry stiffen.

“Don’t talk back to me, you queer.” Larry spat. Connor’s anger flared.

“Don’t tell me what the fuck to do!” He yelled, shoving Larry’s shoulder. Larry whipped around, rage igniting in his eyes, and grabbed Connor by the neck, hoisting him into the air with a strength he’d never possessed before. Fear coursed through Connor’s mind as he scrambled for a way out, letting out choked cries. Why was Cynthia still sitting at the table, sipping her coffee as she watched it fall apart? Why hadn’t Zoe come downstairs yet? Hadn’t she heard the shouting? Why was he here, why wasn’t anyone doing anything? He could feel his airways closing completely, and he tried to meet Larry’s eyes, flailing in his firm grip. Larry’s eyes weren’t void of emotion, but in fact were voids, empty and pulling Connor in deeper and deeper.

“This is your fault,” his father snarled. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you weren’t such a fucking freak.”

Connor let out a strangled scream and fell into the void of Larry’s eyes, clawing at his throat. It went dark.

“Connor- Connor? Wake up, goddamnit, wake up!” Suddenly, Connor’s gaze was filled with light as an insistent hand pushed against his shoulder, edging him awake. He open his eyes to meet Evan’s concerned blues. He blinked slowly, and Evan straightened, allowing Connor to sit up.

Evan broke the silence. “You were- uh- having a nightmare and, um, yelling and clawing at your neck and I figured that I should probably wake you up because I hate having nightmares and it’s already about the right time to get up and my mom’s already awake.” His words fell out in a single breath. Connor nodded, clearing his throat. He slid his legs off the bed and stood, stretching. This nightmare had been unsettlingly odd. Bad dreams weren’t uncommon, most having to deal with Larry, but the feminine form was a weird addition. Connor figured he could shake it off.

He looked at his disheveled self in the mirror, the familiar feeling of nauseating discontent washing over him, and followed a beckoning Evan out the door. They walked through the hallway, entering the kitchen. A blonde woman in scrubs sat at a counter, stirring a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Ev!” she smiled, her voice pitchy. Evan smiled slightly.

“Good morning Mom.” he replied. Evan’s mother’s gaze scanned over Evan and landed on Connor. Her brow contorted. Here it comes, Connor thought, bracing himself. Here’s where he gets yelled at and kicked out.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked, taking another sip of coffee.

“Uh, Mom, this is Connor. He’s in my- uh, biology class.” Evan stuttered out. Connor looked at the woman. She studied him for a minute before breaking into a soft smile.

“Well hi, Connor. I’m Heidi, Evan’s mom.” she began, “Evan, sweetie, you should’ve told me you were having a friend stay the night. I would’ve put something out for breakfast.” she seemed friendly, and Connor lowered his mental guard slightly. Connor took a seat at one of the chairs at the counter and Evan sat between the two of them.

“Mom, do we still have cereal?” Evan asked tentatively. Heidi nodded, and Evan hopped up again, reaching into various cabinets and assembling a breakfast of sorts. Connor noticed he was pulling out two of everything: two bowls, two spoons, and he had to interject.

“I’m not very hungry,” Connor admitted. He wasn’t lying either, the entire nightmare had drained him of any will to digest food for at least another few hours. Evan looked at him, opening his mouth to argue but instead placing one of the two bowls back into the cabinet and pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He sat back down and began eating it dry, not bothering to douse the flakes with milk. The trio sat in silence, but unlike the silence that had consumed the spare moments last night, this silence was comfortable. Heidi stood up and placed her coffee cup into the sink, before turning back to Evan.

“Ev, honey, I have to go soon, but I want to talk to you for a minute,” she paused, and Connor braced himself. “without Connor.” Connor’s heart plummeted as Evan hopped up, placing his bowl in the sink and wiping his palms on his pants, like they were sweaty.

“Right,” the blond said, swiping his tongue over his lips. Heidi walked into what Connor thought was the living room, and Evan followed, dragging his feet ever so slightly against the ground. He audibly gulped, turning to lock eyes with Connor before he, too, stepped into the living room, shutting the door lightly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo my dudes my tumblr is @jack-be-clumsy and walt's is @hocksquawks come yell at us
> 
> also random note the Newsies broadway recording is being put on Netflix live streaming TOMORROW but i'm off school TODAY so


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I- um, I was just - I mean, I didn’t know he was coming, well I invited him - but he’s not - he needed - he’s not my friend, actually-”  
> \--  
> In which stories are spilled but secrets are kept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its up yall!! welcome back!!  
> its another update of everyones favorite angst train woohoo!!  
> come bother us blease on tumblr we're @jack-be-clumsy and @hocksquawks

The way he looked at it, Connor was perfectly justified. Evan had inadvertently saved his life a couple hours ago, after all, and then… let him sleep in his bed… and let him eat breakfast with them…

Okay, so actually, Connor wasn’t justified at all. But he was insanely curious, not to mention nervous, so he sat against the door, leaning his ear into the crack between the wall and the door, trying to listen to the wisps of conversation that floated between that slot of space.

Connor knew that he was absolutely invading the Hansen’s privacy, and that he should be grateful that he hadn’t been kicked out of their house yet, but he still had to know, had to hear what was happening in the other room. He didn’t want Evan getting in trouble for something Connor did. For something that was all his fault.  
“Evan, honey,” he could hear Heidi saying, “Why didn’t you tell me you were having a friend over?”

“I- um, I was just - I mean, I didn’t know he was coming, well I invited him - but he’s not - he needed - he’s not my friend, actually-”

Of course not, Connor thought. It was true, of course, but it still sent a dull ache through his chest.

“You need to tell me these things. I wouldn’t be so concerned if it was just Jared, but with someone I’ve never met...” Heidi didn’t sound pissed, just tired, caring, and a little bit puzzled. Connor had scarcely know her for longer than ten minutes, but he could still imagine her brow crunching as Evan’s words continued.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Evan muttered up, and Connor could hear him shift on the couch that Connor had seen before Evan shut the door. It was a light gray color- a soothing break from all the blue in the house.

“It’s okay honey. Now you know for future reference.” There was silence, and Connor hoped this was the end of their conversation, that Evan and Heidi would stand and rejoin Connor in the kitchen, and Heidi would send them off to school, which Connor would probably then subsequently ditch. He could then pretend this entire thing never happened, and probably find himself on the same bridge in about a week, but this time, with no Evan Hansen to save him.

“Evan, why did you have Connor over?” Heidi asked hesitantly.

“I-uh, well, I ran into him on a- on a walk.” Evan stumbled through his sentence, and Connor had to strain his ear to hear the last words.

“Evan-” Heidi interjected.

“He-he was going to die, Mom, I couldn’t let him die.” Evan let the second half of sentence slide breathlessly over his lips, and several moments of dead silence followed. Connor’s stomach dropped.

“What do you mean?” Heidi’s voice was strained, the puzzlement was evident now, along with an edge of alarm.

“He was going to die,” Evan repeated, like he didn’t know what other words to use. “He was was going to jump off a goddamned bridge, mom, I-I couldn’t…” Connor heard Heidi draw in a sharp breath.

“Well,” she said. “Well.” There was another silence, and Connor sat outside the door with his heart beating erratically. Heidi knew. She was going to tell his parents, he was going to tell Larry. Oh God, what was Larry going to say? Connor didn’t want his door taken away again. It’d been bad enough the first time. “You boys deserve a day off from school,” he heard Heidi mutter, her voice just slightly wobbly. “I’m gonna call Connor in to talk, okay?”

Unfortunately, Connor heard that last sentence a little too late, so when Evan tentatively swung open the door, Connor barely had the time to move his head away from the door to prevent it from being hit.

“Connor?” Evan asked, looking around the room. Connor froze below him, his back leaning deeper into the wall. Evan looked down and locked eyes with Connor, jumping slightly. “O-oh! There you are.” Evan attempted a smile, the expression resembling closer to that of a grimace. Realization clicked in his eyes, “Were you listening to that?” he blurted.  
Connor stood shakily and guiltily nodded. Evan’s eyes widened and he blushed slightly, pushing the door open a little more, allowing Connor to step into the room, looking embarrassedly at Heidi.

“I’m sorry for eavesdropping.” He was definitely not sorry, but Heidi still smiled slightly and beckoned him towards the couch where she was sat. Evan walked over and sat beside her, curling up beside her. Connor took a hesitant seat in one of the armchairs across from her, nervous.

“Connor, dear, if I called your parents to tell them about where you are, would that be okay? I would be worried sick if Evan disappeared like that-”

“No!” Connor snapped before composing himself, embarrassed, “No, they don’t need to know a-any of this.” Heidi bit her lip slightly, concerned. Evan shifted anxiously at her side, eyeing Connor carefully.

“Are you sure?” she pressed on. Connor could tell she wanted to pick up the phone and call his mother, tell her everything. The thought made his gut twist, and he knew he absolutely should not bring Cynthia or Larry into this.

Connor nodded without hesitation. Heidi bit at her lip again, but smiled softly at him once more. “Alright then. Whatever makes you comfortable.” Connor wasn’t used to this kind of caring comfort, and he tried for a awkward smile that really wasn’t anything more than a slight curve of his mouth that resembled a smirk. He was pretty sure Heidi got the message, though.

“Um, Mom?” Evan asked. Heidi looked over to him and nodded, non-verbally telling him to continue. “What did you mean when you said that we, um, deserved a day off from school?”

“Connor, was Evan telling the truth? If you couldn’t hear through the door, I’ll repeat it.” Heidi asked. Connor hesitated, then nodded unsurelly.

“Yeah. It’s all true.” Saying it aloud had a certain unexpected weight: suddenly, all of Connor actions were real, not some long and fucked up dream. He had really sat on the edge and looked over, studying the water with morbid excitement “oh god,” he murmured. “I tried- I tried to kill myself. I wanted to- hell, I still want to- die.”

“Well, Connor, can you walk me through last night? If you’re comfortable that is- I can always get Evan to leave or something like that-” Heidi reached across the coffee table, grabbing at Connor’s hand tentatively. Connor jumped slightly at the unexpected touch and shrugged it away, beginning to speak.

“Evan can stay. He probably remembers better than me. Or really- some parts- some of it’s still fuzzy.”

Evan looked straight-up terrified. Connor almost laughed, until he realized Evan might be feeling too anxious to relay the events on the bridge. That put a frown on his face. He decided that he would have to tell the story, because Evan was in no shape to do so.

“Connor?” Heidi prompted, and he started.

“Last night. Right. I just… I had an argument with my dad,” he began. “He called me a queer, I told him that he needed to get the fuck out my life, the usual-” he pretended he didn’t see Heidi wince at that, “-so I stormed out and I just - I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to jump. I just figured ‘hey, I’m sitting on a bridge, and if I fall then I fall and if I don’t then I don’t and I really don’t care either way’, y’know?” He realized too late that actually, no, Heidi probably had no idea what he meant. “Anyway, Evan comes by on a night walk or some shit, and then he freaked and told me that he-that I shouldn’t jump.” He had realized mid-sentence that telling Heidi about her son attempting suicide might not be a great idea. That could wait. “I actually did fall- but it was an accident, I swear, I was rocking and I almost fell- and Evan?” Connor paused, relaying the night's events, “Evan saved me. He pulled me back and… and…” Connor trailed off, looking at Evan meaningfully. 

“Evan?” Heidi asked, “Evan… saved you?” She sounded impressed. Evan looked embarrassed, staring fixedly at his lap as a deep blush spread over his face.

“I-It was nothing.” he murmured. He didn’t look up from his lap, and instead began to pick at his fingers and fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

“It wasn’t nothing.” Connor insisted. He paused, waiting for Evan to look him in the eye.“I would be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

What he really meant was, ‘I would be dead if you didn’t understand’. But neither of them wanted to talk about what Evan had confessed last night, nor did they want Heidi to know. Evan’s eyes widened, and he nodded in gratitude.

Heidi glanced between the two of them, sensing that something had gone unsaid. “Well, boys,” she began, “I need to go into work now.”

“But Mom- you never um- never answered my question.” Evan stuttered out. Heidi looked at him, confused, before understanding.

“After last night, I don’t think either of you are in the right mental state to be at school,” she explained kindly. Evan opened his mouth to interject, but Heidi cut him off. “I don’t want you to have another panic attack, honey. In fact,” she seemed to get an idea. “I should be able to get Connor a psychiatrist at the hospital, if the two of you came with me.”  
Connor knew she was only trying to help, but his gut still twisted. He had never had a positive experience with a psychiatrist. 

“Where do you work?” Connor asked. He presumed it was some sort of doctor's office, but he wanted to be sure.

“I’m a nurse at the hospital. They have psychs and therapy there, and it’ll be easy to find you someone.” Heidi explained. “Evan goes there, too, for his social anxiety.” 

“O-Okay.” Connor affirmed. He would have to stick it out, he guessed. It was better than dealing with the asshole parade at school. Evan had blushed at Heidi's last comment, but then stuck his hands in his pocket and looked around, painfully awkward.

“Anyway, we need to leave in about,” Heidi looked down at her watch, “ten minutes. I’m going to get ready.” She left the living room, leaving Evan and Connor there in awkward silence. Connor used this spare minute to process what had just happened. Heidi Hansen had just offered therapy to a kid she had never met before, and had done so without yelling or insults, and Connor was amazed. Cynthia had tried- but yoga retreats can only do so much, and besides, Larry had called them “sissy hippy bullshit” and insisted it was a waste of money. Cynthia didn’t argue. She never did. But Heidi? Heidi had known him for less than an hour, and she had been more understanding and legitimately helpful than either of Connor’s parents ever were.

“Thank you.” Evan mumbled, breaking Connor’s inner monologue “She doesn’t know about… about the tree. She thinks I fell.” Connor just nodded and stared at his hands. Evan fidgeted, playing with the hem of his shirt and chewing on his bottom lip. Several minutes passed in silence.

“Evan?” Connor asked. Evan looked up at him nervously. “Thank you.” Connor said. He hoped Evan understood that this was for everything, not only giving him a place to sleep but also for pulling him back, having a mother who cared, and, just for trying, in his own way, to reach out and help. Connor was still resistant to the idea of going back to therapy, and he wanted more than anything to be back on the bridge, but now, Evan had held him back, not only literally, but also mentally.

“Come on, boys!” They heard Heidi call. “It’s time to go!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Connor studied his own hands, the black nail polish- that in the week since he had last painted them- had chipped and faded, and Connor picked at it uncertainly.  
> “So, uh,” Evan broke the silence, and he looked over to see Evan also studying Connor’s hands, “why do you, uh, paint your nails?”"  
> ~~  
> Last night, Connor had assumed he'd be in a coffin the next day, not sitting in a hospital waiting room.

Connor didn’t like hospitals. He didn’t think anyone did, really. It was something about the blindingly white walls, the sterile aura, and the ever lingering smell of desperation. He ducked his head as they walked in, letting his tawny curls swing down over his face. Next to him, Evan’s face had paled several shades, and he was pressing his casted arm tightly across his stomach. He caught sight of Connor’s questioning face and swallowed, looking away quickly. Heidi had let them to a sort of waiting room, and was now talking to a tired looking woman sat at a desk. Evan turned to Connor.

“I haven’t-I haven’t been here in awhile,” he explained quietly. “I was-the last time I-the last time I was here I had just… broken my arm.” He didn’t need to explain any further. Connor nodded. He was having trouble forming his normal sarcastic replies, and even then, he couldn’t quite bring himself to snap at Evan, who had begun to look quite sick.

“Connor,” Heidi began, turning to face him, “I managed to squeeze you in with Dr. Decker in twenty minutes. You can sit and wait in here, and if Evan wants to, he can stay with you, but when you go in, he’ll have to find somewhere else to wait.” she concluded. Evan looked up from the spot on the floor where he had been staring for the past minute. 

“I’ll stay- I mean, if you don’t want me to, I’ll go, but- uh…” Evan trailed off and looked up at Connor for confirmation. He looked between the boy and his mother and nodded slowly.

“Evan can stay.” Connor nodded. Heidi smiled brightly, and turned on her heel, exiting swiftly. Evan sat beside Connor in a stiff plastic chair, tapping on his knee with his fingers. Connor looked at his nails, bitten to the edge, and the skin surrounding it scabbed and scratched. Connor then studied his own hands, the black nail polish- that in the week since he had last painted them- had chipped and faded, and Connor picked at it uncertainly. 

“So, uh,” Evan broke the silence, and he looked over to see Evan also studying Connor’s hands, “why do you, uh, paint your nails?” Connor held out his hand, turning it over and taking a moment to think, but Evan interjected, “That was probably too personal, wasn’t it? God, I’m sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t mean to make you - make you, like, incomfortable - wait incomfortable no that’s not - uncomfortable, I didn’t mean to-” Connor cut him off.

“I don’t really know,” he said, “it pisses my dad off, so that’s a plus, but I just- I don’t know, it feels...right.” Now that he said it out loud, he realized how weird it sounded and frowned. Luckily, Evan didn’t seem like the judgmental type. He just nodded and bit down harder on his lip. “You should be careful,” Connor muttered. Evan shot him a bewildered look, and he clarified. “Biting your lips. You could pierce the skin.”

Evan nodded uncertainly, and two of them lapsed back into silence. Connor frowned when he noticed that Evan had drawn his lip back into his mouth, but shrugged it off. No one had ever listened to him before. Why would Evan fucking Hansen be any different? He thought back to his response, turning his attention back to his hands. He wasn’t lying- it did feel right to have his nails painted, but he couldn’t explain why. He remembered the first time he had done it: he had seen Zoe painting hers carefully that morning in a shade of pale purple, and Connor had felt this sort of longing want, looking at her painting swatches of lavender. It was impulsive, sure, but he also wanted to, at least, try it. He had stolen Zoe’s polish- black seemed like the least used color- and set to work, carefully trying to mimic his younger sister. Looking back, they had looked awful, but in those few moments, Connor was happy with himself, and with the way his nails looked, shining with a new glossy black coat.

Larry had nearly thrown a fit when he saw them, though. Connor remembered watching the newspaper between his fingers crinkle as he sat down at the breakfast table. He had turned a rather unpleasant shade of red, and, after figuring out that Connor did them himself, demanded that they be taken off immediately. Connor had refused. He still remembered the anger that had bubbled beneath him before he lashed out. Connor them stormed off, walking to school all by himself.

He never did stop painting his nails after that.

“Excuse me boys, are either of you-” Connor’s thoughts were interrupted by a balding man with faded red hair checking something on a clipboard, “- Connor Murphy?” 

“I am.” Connor replied, studying the man. He gave off a certain vibe that set Connor on edge, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, the way he tried to appear paternal, when with a quick look at his eyes Connor could see it all was an act. Or maybe, it was just Connor being paranoid. 

“I’m Dr. Decker, and if you’ll come with me, we’re gonna sit and talk for a little bit.” He sounded condescending, something about his tone pissing Connor off immediately. The man set him on edge, and Connor’s thoughts swirled in his head.

“You’re gonna go diagnose me as officially crazy, right?” Connor asked bitterly. His sharp tongue was back, a stinging bite at the end of his words. Dr. Decker raised his eyebrows as Connor stood to match him in height. 

“Connor, whether or not you get a diagnosis, you need to come with me.” he tried again, his voice with the same pitying authority as before.

“Why? Just so you can go and call me a freak in private?” Connor raised his voice, “Well, sorry to ruin your plans, but you can just call me a freak right here! Because, that’s all I am, right?” he paused, looking the surprised man dead in the eye, “Right?!” he stopped, breathing heavily, when he noticed the room had gone dead silent. He froze, looking around carefully, and caught Evan’s eye. The boy had seemed to shrink several sizes, trying to blend in with the wall and almost succeeding, his pale skin nearly the same sickly cream color as the room.

Evan looked at him, wide-eyed and fearful, and Connor’s gut sank. He felt incredibly embarrassed, guilty even. He turned back to Dr. Decker, feeling all the eyes in the room on him.

“Just lead the fucking way, Doc.” Connor glared daggers around the room until everyone returned to their menial tasks, and stopped, his gaze lingering on Evan, who nodded uncertainly, still looking frightened. Connor sighed, trying to give a look that conveyed that he was sorry, and hoping that Evan got the message, before he turned back to Dr. Decker, and let him lead the way out of the small, cream colored room.

Dr. Decker’s office was painted the same bland shade as the rest of the hospital, with a worn couch shoved in one corner and an scratched leather armchair in the other. The floor was covered in grey carpet that bore heavy evidence of old footprints. Connor slumped down in the armchair, strengthening his glare as Decker settled on the couch, carefully tilting his clipboard up so Connor couldn’t see it.

Connor had never had any good experiences with psychiatrists. They didn’t understand him, wouldn’t accept that he didn’t want help. They just sat there with their phony caring tones and their sickly sweet smiles, trying to cajole him into admitting his shortcomings. He suspected this would be no different.

“So, Connor,” Dr. Decker began. “I heard you had a rough night.”

Well, if that wasn’t an insensitive thing to say. Connor swallowed down an angry growl.

“I tried to kill myself,” he bit out, his words dripping with bitter sarcasm. “My night was fan-fucking-tastic, Doc.” He glared at the doctor, whose false smile strained.

“Would you like to tell me why?” Connor flinched at the fake concern in his voice.

“No.” he shot back defiantly.

Dr. Decker marked something on his clipboard, then offered him another fake flash of teeth. “I can’t help you if you don’t cooperate, Connor.” Connor’s hands tightened into fists at the doctor’s condescending tone.

“What if I don’t want your help?” he jabbed at the doctor’s presumptions, and realized that Dr. Decker was poor at masking his exasperation.

“So you want to kill yourself?” Dr. Decker was becoming irritated as well, Connor could tell. Good, he thought, the man probably deserves it.

“Nah,” Connor told him, picking at his nail polish again. “I just thought it’d be a nice night for a swim, y’know?”

Decker frowned for all of half a second before the smile was back, bigger and falser than before. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Another note.

Connor paused, his sarcastic retort hanging on his lips. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought; more black polish fell to the ground.

“Connor? When did you first start feeling suicidal?” he prompted, tapping on his clipboard insistently.

“I-I don’t know,” Connor finally answered. “Sixth grade, maybe? Seventh?” Of course, he remembered the exact day, the day when he looked down at his himself and wondered what if he just didn’t exist anymore, what if he just disappeared. The day he realized no one would even care. But then again, of course, Dr. Decker didn’t deserve to know that.

“That’s a long time,” Decker remarked absentmindedly, making another note on the clipboard. “Was this your first attempt?”

Connor crossed his arms. “Does it matter?” he remarked sassily. 

“That’s a no, then?” the blue pen hovered above something on Dr. Decker’s clipboard

“Did I say no?” Connor snapped. He swore he saw Decker’s eyes roll, and the pen move lower down, marking another note.

“No, but I assumed-” He was interrupted again.

“Don’t,” Connor hissed a deadly warning at him. “Don’t assume when you don’t know anything about me.”

“Hmm,” Decker hummed neutrally. “My apologies. Do your parents know?” he was not apologetic in the least, Connor could tell.

“No.”

“You know, they really ought to-” Dr. Decker was desperately trying to connect, but Connor deflected again.

“No.”

“If I almost lost a son-”

“No.” Connor’s fingernails were digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood, his teeth grinding together. Who did this jackass think he was?

“I can call them-” Dr. Decker put his hand to his pocket as if to pull out a cellphone.

“No!” Connor found himself standing. “How many fucking times do I have to say it? I don’t want them to know!”

There was silence, a horrible, deafeningly tense silence, when Dr. Decker cleared his throat, preparing to talk again, ask another stupid, invasive, horrible question, when there was a loud succession of raps at the door, and it flung open suddenly. Connor jumped as a woman with long blonde hair burst into the room, panting.

“Hey, Deck,” she wheezed. Connor blinked. It was none other than a disheveled Heidi Hansen standing breathlessly in the middle of the office. “I have fifteen minutes off, and since the session was supposed to end about a minute ago, I need to run Connor home before my break is up, and get the information for any medication you choose to put him on.” she spoke with a certain authority, a casual tone with implications of correctness. Dr. Decker sighed and scrawled another note on his stupid clipboard. Connor blinked as Evan slid in quietly behind her, looking around nervously. Like that was anything new.

“Alright, Heidi, but I need to have another session in a week. We can work out the exact logistics later, when you’re not in such a rush. I can send the prescription off to the pharmacy by the end of the day, and they can have it ready by tomorrow.” He sounded disappointed, and Connor felt relief wash over him. Heidi had, knowingly or not, swooped in at the last minute and gotten him out of this, thank god. He looked over at her gratefully, but also couldn’t help but wonder: why didn’t he have a parent like that?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's trying, and at this point, it's the most he can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooo its ya dude hock here saying welcome back!!  
> this is kinda a filler chapter BUT ITS IMPORTANT OK  
> this is also the chapter where (if you follow my antics on tumblr) "can connor vore evan" comes from (thanks marki)  
> and follow us on tungle btw its @jack-be-clumsy and @hocksquawks  
> ps WE ARE LIVING FOR YOUR COMMENTS they brighten our day and make us smile sm thank u all

“Alright boys, there’s about twenty bucks on the kitchen table, order whatever you want.” Heidi explained. She had dumped the boys rather unceremoniously back at the Hansen’s, and was now leaving them with a set of instructions. “And Ev, I won’t be home until early tomorrow morning, so I love you, and I’ll see you then, alright?” Evan nodded, and she smiled at the both of them before rushing back out of the door, leaving them in an awkward silence.

“Well… uh,” Evan began, “it’s about 11:30, are you hungry?”

“No.” Connor responded. He wasn’t really feeling up to eating or holding conversation. His stomach protested, but Connor knew he was in no state to eat.

“I- uh- alright, I guess, I mean, I’m really not that hungry either…” Evan trailed off, almost as if to hint that he had left something unsaid. Connor remembered. He hadn’t eaten breakfast either. Oh well, as if he ate on a normal schedule anyways. Evan fucking Hansen would just have to deal with that. Connor gazed silently at the smaller boy, looking as the other intently picked at the plaster on his blank cast.

“No one’s uh,” Connor broke the quiet, not really sure where he was going with his sentences, “no one’s signed your cast.”

“I know,” Evan cleared his throat awkwardly, “no one’s really… wanted too I guess.” he stumbled through the second half of his sentence, and Connor had to strain to discern words.

“I’ll sign it.” It was meant to sound like a statement, but instead trailed upwards, like a question. Evan opened his mouth as if to object, but Connor looked away before he could, scanning the counter for a marker. He found one next to the toaster and turned to Evan, nodding at his broken arm.

Evan’s brow contorted and he hesitated before slowly, cautiously, raising up his arm to Connor’s hand. Connor took his arm, uncapping the marker. He jerked Evan’s arm slightly, and Evan winced. Connor inwardly recoiled, meaning to apologize, but didn’t. Suddenly, a beat had passed, and it seemed too awkward for Connor to say sorry, so he simply returned to the task at hand, scrawling his name in big block letters across the white plaster. It would have been simple enough to write his name in a small font, but instead reasoned that, if they were roughly three weeks into the school year and no one had signed his cast, no one ever would.

“There,” Connor began, “now we can both pretend we have friends.” 

Evan inspected his arm, his face glowing red. “O-okay.” he mumbled, looking back at Connor. They stood in silence for a moment, both holding the exact same question: what the hell were they supposed to do until Connor had to go back home? “D’you uh, um… have any homework you haven’t finished?” Evan tried tentatively. Connor laughed.  
“I haven’t done homework since freshman year.” This wasn’t completely true. He occasionally half-assed big projects and papers to save his failing grade, and always made sure he at least attempted Mrs. Onera’s homework. But the daily worksheets that were handed out, the textbook questions that were assigned? Connor didn’t bother. If he knew the material even halfway he could manage himself on a quiz. And even if he didn’t, why bother?

Evan just sort of nodded awkwardly. Connor’s laugh tapered into a sort of half-bitter chuckle and then silence. He cleared his throat.

“Do you - do you want to, I don’t know, maybe - maybe talk about it?” Connor looked at the blonde boy in confusion. What was he - oh.

“No.” It came out sharper than intended. “The man’s a bitch, that’s all that matters.”

Connor was admittedly shocked when Evan tried again. That had never been an Evan thing, he didn’t think, pushing when the other person wouldn’t give.

“Are you sure? I mean, I swear I’m not assuming anything, but when I first went I wished I had someone that well… well… I don’t know, understands what was happening because no one really tried to understand, they just went ‘oh look Evan’s got a problem let’s stick him in therapy’ and that was the end of it but therapy - therapy was never a safe place because it was the only place I felt safe, y’know?” Connor shook his head. Evan looked down. “Oh.”

The silence deafened them, stifling. Connor cleared his throat again. “Do you like Sherlock?” Evan nods, a blush falling over his freckled cheeks. Connor will swear to his dying day that he most certainly did not smile at that - no, not at all.

“We’ve got Netflix,” Evan said. “Want to watch season four?”

“Hell yeah,” Connor exclaimed, following Evan into the living room and flopping down onto the couch. “My parents took away my computer so I haven’t watched it yet.”  
They were drawn in by the pompous detective’s work and the harrowing action, laughing when they were meant to and sometimes when they weren’t - Connor had to admit that the highlight of the show was Benedict Cumberbatch’s face.

“Honestly, I’d agree,” Evan said when he voiced this opinion, and it was then that Connor realized the other boy hadn’t stuttered since they started. “And of course ‘there’ll be cake’ is a perfectly good reason - why are you staring like - like that? Is there something - do I look weird?”

“Oh, no,” Connor said. “No, it’s nothing.” Still, Evan seemed on edge as the show drew to a close. They sat there, the laughter from before seeming light years away. Evan was biting his lip again.

“Do you - do you want order dinner?” he asked without looking at Connor as another episode drew to a close.

“Sure.” Evan nodded stiffly and left the room. Connor realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day, and supposed that he was as well eat now, because he sure as hell wouldn’t be getting anything at home. Evan returned with a laptop and sat down next to Connor again, flipping it open and awkwardly typing in the password with one hand.  
“What do you want? We can have - have pizza, maybe? Or -or Chinese or Thai or some-”

“Pizza sounds great,” Connor cut in. “Put whatever toppings you want on it, I don’t care.” He pointedly looked away as Evan clacked on the keys. It took him four times longer than it perhaps should have, navigating with the cast and all. Connor noted that he was, indeed, right handed, for even with the broken left arm, he still seemed fairly adept with his right hand.

“I put on mushrooms and olives, is that - are you good with that?” Connor nodded absentmindedly, wrinkling his nose only slightly. He wasn’t going to argue with Evan, besides, the order had already been placed, and he couldn’t be bothered to go to the lengths it would require to change it. His mother loved veggie pizza, and Connor had grown to despise it simply from over-eating it when there was nothing else in the house. Connor didn’t care for large amounts of toppings on pizza, but that was okay, Evan was already on edge, and Connor didn’t want to send him overboard. “Alright, the uh, order’s been placed. It’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Do you w-wanna watch another, um, episode?”

Connor shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” Evan seemed more on edge during this episode than the last. He didn’t laugh along with the humor this time, not even at the points that Connor couldn’t control his lips from twitching into a sort half smile, half smirk. He almost missed the soft chuckle that had fallen from Evan’s lips only a half hour before. During the second half of the episode, he spent more time watching the boy next to him than the screen, wondering what had him all on edge.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Evan jumped, a sort of muted panic washing over his face. Understanding clicked in Connor’s brain. He was anxious over talking to the delivery guy, of course. How had Connor forgotten that Evan could barely manage a conversation with him, nonetheless a total stranger. A beat of silence passed, and Evan looked at Connor with a half-pleading look, his mouth opening to say something. The taller boy gave a sigh and stood before he could.

“I’ll get it.” Connor figured it was the least he could do, and walked through the door frame, grabbing the twenty dollar bill from the counter where Heidi had left it. He walked through the kitchen, opening the front door and making eye contact with the delivery man.

“Fifteen dollars,” the guy said. He wasn’t that much older than them - probably some student at the community college working whatever jobs he could to stay afloat. His long hair was scraped back into a greasy ponytail, patchy facial hair clinging to his cheeks and chin, and Connor wrinkled his nose as he took the pizza, catching sight of the dirt-rimmed fingernails. He gingerly thrust a ten and five into the waiting hand and closed the door without saying thank you.

When he walked back into the living room, Evan was sitting on the couch with his legs pulled under him, a blush reaching all the down to the collar of his shirt. There were paper plates on the table.

“Th-thank you. I’m so s-sorry, I would have done it, really-I-I could’ve!-but thank you-”

“It’s fine, Hansen,” Connor cut in. “I don’t mind.” Evan shut his mouth with an almost audible snap, nodding quickly and leaning over to open the pizza box that Connor had set down on the table. He pulled out a slice and put it on a plate, turning the box towards Connor, who copied the action. The two sat back on the couch, eating in silence. Connor methodically picked the toppings off his slice, leaving them on the side of the plate. Evan looked over to his plate and let out a soft and anxious laugh,

“You could’ve told me that you uh, didn’t want anything on it, I w-would’ve ordered a cheese pizza if I knew that w-what you want-” Evan was speaking immeasurably quickly, and Connor had to interrupt again.

“I don’t mind, really.” Connor was honest, he had been picking toppings off pizza since he was old enough to have a choice in the matter.

“Are you s-s-sure?” Evan asked. His stutter was back, noticeably so. Connor looked at him, making sure he had eye contact before nodding over and over again until Evan realized he was being genuine. He smiled shyly, the bridge of his nose scrunching slightly. Connor tried to smile back, hoping he looked at least slightly pleased with Evan.

“Remember earlier?” Connor asked. He was feeling better, the food in his stomach boosting his mood, “When you were talking about your therapy?”

“Yeah?” Evan responded, the statement sounding more like a question than anything else.

“Does it ever…” Connor paused, trying to formulate his question into something coherent, “does it ever get better? Like, not necessarily in like, my head but, like the actual therapy?” Evan looked at him, cocking his head sideways and studying Connor. His lips pursed.

“It gets more bearable.” Evan took a breath, “I guess for some people it-it gets… better, but I’ve never really found that, I mean- I guess…” He trailed off, his blue eyes flitting away from Connor’s gaze. Evan was understandably nervous, even if he had technically invited Connor questions earlier.

“How often do you go?” Connor asked. He was trying to figure out the exact logistics of what Heidi had signed him up for. Sure, he had done retreat shit in the past, but that was always stopped before it settled into a proper schedule.

“I-I-I it’s once a week for m-me but I don’t know, I have n-n-no way to know, I mean- you’ll have to ask my m-mom.” Evan’s stutter was worsening, Connor tried to backpedal. Evan wasn’t comfortable talking about his therapy, Connor realized. He had expected Connor to share and just be able to nod along.

“Evan, is this stressing you out?” Connor inquired. Evan squirmed.

“N-no!” He blurted , “I mean- well- it’s just weird to- to uh, talk about this? B-because I’ve been going for years a-and everyone t-t-treats it like it’s some big sh-shameful secret and it’s n-not! It’s just w-what some p-p-people need to- need to function right, I g-guess. I sound s-stupid, I’m so sorry...”

“No,” Connor retorted, “no, you don’t sound stupid. I- I guess I’ll be doing this for a while too, and it’ll be- nice to have someone to talk to.” Connor forced softness into his tone, watching as Evan picked up on this attempt at friendship.

“Yeah.” Evan said, relieved, “Yeah, I guess it will be.” 

It was odd, the idea of having a friend, if he could even consider Evan one. But even so, as he sat back on the couch, eating his now topping-free pizza, he couldn’t erase the light smile that pulled at Evan’s cheeks from his memory. 

And even when he managed to sneak back home, even Larry’s tight lipped smile and disapproving glare couldn’t shake the feeling from his stomach. It was something Connor hadn’t felt in a while, and he felt surprised when he finally pinned it down.

Hope.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would be easy enough to ditch right here and now, slip back out into the world, get high, and stay that way for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we introduce jared in this chapter and i LOVE my boy  
> also alana makes an appearance im gay  
> anyway yall thanks for reads/kudos/comments id gladly die for u all  
> tumbgelber: @hocksquawks and @jack-be-clumsy

“Hansen, you should’ve told me you were playing hooky yesterday, I would've totally been down to ditch!” Connor could just barely see Jared’s mop of brown hair over the tops of people’s heads in the crowded hallway, and was just close enough to hear the conversation.

“It wasn’t - wasn’t like that Jared!” Evan tried, desperately wanting to escape the conversation. He scanned the hallway, locking eyes with Connor. His cover blown, Connor inserted himself next to Evan as Jared began to speak again.

“What was it then? You stranded me in World History, and that shit’s rough-” He paused, looking Connor up and down in shock, “wait- you ditched me for Hot Topic here?” he cackled, “Damn, I didn’t take you for being into bad boys, shit-”

“Jared!” Evan squeaked, “I don’t- we don’t-”

“Oh my god!” Jared was laughing, “Oh my god! I bet you two fucked-”

“Shut the fuck up, Kleinman.” Connor growled. He wasn’t having any of Jared’s shit today. Normally, it was bearable, and he could make a game of trying to snap back at Kleinman until he became too petrified to reply. Which, of course, serves him right for trying to start shit with Connor.

“Ooh I’m fucking terrified, Count Dracula.” Jared jabbed at Connor. Connor was about to bite back when Evan spoke.

“Jared!” He whined, “Just cut it out, please!” That thick red blush only Evan could achieve was spreading down his neck, clearly communicating his embarrassment.

“Alright, damn, I have to go to Programming anyway.” Jared held both his hands up in surrender and backed away from Evan and Connor, whipping around and heading towards his locker. Connor’s mood was effectively soured thanks to that ass.

“Connor, he doesn’t mean any of- of it. At least, I don’t - I don’t think.” Evan murmured, still embarrassed by Jared’s behavior.

“Yeah, whatever.” Connor had remembered why he didn’t enjoy school, and it was specifically because of jackasses like Kleinman. “I wasn’t planning on staying, anyway.” Connor looked back at the door where students were still filtering in. It would be easy enough to ditch right here and now, slip back out into the world, get high, and stay that way for the rest of the day.

“Wait what-what do you mean?” Evan asked, concerned.

“It means I’m gonna skip school, Hansen!” Connor tried to keep the edge out of his tone, but when Evan flinched, he knew he hadn’t succeeded. His gut sank, “Sorry, that sounded, um, rude.”

“It’s okay.” Evan said, blinking a few times, “But, don’t - don’t ditch! I mean, I don’t- I can’t stop you, but you - you were already absent yesterday, it would be bad, I mean, I don’t know if you parents even - your parents even care or anything, but…” Evan trailed off. Connor weighed his options. If he ditched, he wouldn’t have to deal with any of high school’s bullshit, but, then again, he would have to return eventually, and the deep shit he’s already in with his parents would get even deeper. Plus, Evan seemed so sincerely concerned that Connor found himself nodding, agreeing to stay.

“Fine, Hansen.” He grumbled. Evan smiled slightly, and Connor frowned, “Don’t get too excited, it’s only because I’m gonna have hell to pay when I get home anyway.”  
“Okay. I- uh- I’ll see you in Biology?” Evan asked, hopeful.

“Sure.” Connor spoke, and turned on his heel, walking in the general direction of his locker. He could barely even remember his combination- he couldn’t remember the last time he actually used his locker for something other than shoving his messenger bag when he could, by chance, get it open.

Connor may have agreed to staying at school, but that didn’t require any real degree of effort. When he got to his Trigonometry class, he dropped into a seat in the back of the classroom, immediately burying his face in his arms and allowing himself to drift into sleep. It wasn’t like he was ever going to use this shit anyway.

“Connor?” A voice poked through the dark haze of unconsciousness, and Connor shifted. “Connor? The bell just rang.” he opened an eye warily, making direct eye contact with Alana Beck. He jumped in his seat as she stood back up. “Sorry to wake you up, but you need to go to your next class.”

“What the fuck?” Connor muttered, letting her words sort themselves into coherency in his mind and nodded, still tired, “Oh, okay, thanks I guess.” He stood, stretching, and grabbed the broken binder and pencil that he carried through his classes when he wanted to look like he cared. He trudged out of the classroom and racked his brain. He hardly ever stayed past the first few minutes of the school day, and it proved troublesome to remember where his second class was. The moment he stepped through the Biology room door, though, it became clear he had another problem.

“And then,” Jared was saying, halfway lying across Evan’s side of the lab table, “And then I said, ‘who are you calling a whiny bitch?’ and he looked like he was gonna punch me-” he caught sight of Connor. “Hey, if it ain’t the man of the hour!” He bounded over to the door. “Welcome to our humble classroom. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before - would you like a tour?” Connor gritted his teeth.

“Get the fuck out of my way, Kleinman,” he muttered, pushing past. Perks of being tall.

The seats were almost all filled, and Connor sat down in the one empty chair, which was, rather unfortunately, right next to where Jared’s stuff was. He was beginning to regret his agreement. He couldn’t sleep through Biology, not with Evan right there. 

“Alright class!” Connor whipped around to see the biology teacher- maybe her name was Ms. Shelby? Connor couldn’t remember- enter the class, holding a large stack of paper and a mug of coffee. “As you may remember, we’re doing our monthly lab this week! I hope you did, because you’re being tested on it this Friday, and will have three days to complete this. Homework will be assigned if you don’t complete the lab. You can ask your table members for help.” Connor groaned. Unfortunately, he must have made a little too much noise, as suddenly, Ms. Shelby’s eyes were on him, “Well hello there, Mr. Murphy, is there something you’d like to say about this assignment? I’m always open to opinions.”

“Oh miss, I’m ecstatic to learn about- learn about… this.” Connor sarcastically tried, plastering on an obviously fake smile, cringing at the way she said his name. The teacher paused, giving him the look of a woman who’d given up, before shaking her head and pulling her smile back onto her face, continuing to talk.

“Well then, if that’s the case, I’ll be waiting for your excellent hypothesis and extra work, which you can pick up from me after class.” Jared snickered quietly, and Connor grit his teeth again. The teacher turned to set her armful of papers on her desk, and he quickly flipped the finger to the smug brunet next to him.

“Fuck you, Kleinman.” He hissed.

“Maybe if you’ve got time after your extra work,” he whispered back, winking. It took a lot of Connor’s self-control not to hit him right there. He could see the surprise on Kleinman’s face when he turned to face the front, letting out a deep breath. Just this one class and then he was going to smoke; damn promises and their consequences. He wasn’t dealing with this shit.

“Mr. Kleinman, I don’t need your comments, unless you plan on sharing them with the class.” The teacher said. “If you’re so full of ideas, perhaps you will be finally satiated with your extra work. I expect to see you after class with Mr. Murphy.” Connor reveled in the look of shock and anger that fell over Jared’s face. “Anyway, to follow up our unit on environmental pollution, we will be studying the effect of acid rain on the germination of seeds. I have packets for all of you at the front, send up a group member to collect one of each of you.” Evan gulped as students shuffled in the seats, and Jared was to busy shooting imaginary daggers into the back of Ms. Shelby’s head to pay attention, so Connor grumbled and stood up, walking up to collect three of the stapled packets.

He headed back, handing a packet to Evan’s shaky fingers and tossing a packet in the general direction of Jared, who flipped him the bird and grabbed the paper, immediately filling in answers. Connor lazily wrote his name at the top of the packet. Jared was flipping the pages, marking answers in with ease. 

Connor read the first question, and decided to skip it. He could come back to it later, probably. Ms. Shelby was drawing some elaborate looking chart on the board, and Connor squinted, trying to pay attention. Next to him, Evan glanced over, and a small smile curved his mouth. His packet was almost a quarter of the way done already, Connor noticed, but he supposed that was the perk of attending class on a regular basis. He glanced down at his barely started packet. Fuck that, he decided. Weed is more fun.

He looked back up as Jared stood along with a handful of other students, who all walked to the front of the room, grabbing what Connor assumed was the materials needed for this project. Jared smirked at Connor as he dropped back into his seat, making no secret of the way his eyes raked over Connor’s work. “Bit lost, yeah?” he whispered, and Connor gritted his teeth. He would have snapped something back if not for the teacher beginning to speak. Jared turned away from him, more interested in the liquid that he was currently swirling around a small petri dish.

“By now, you all should have at least gotten a good start on your packet,” she began, casting a look in Connor’s and several other slacking students directions. “And some of you have gotten the materials for - Mr. Kleinman! What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Jared jerked in surprise, and the liquid splashed up out of the petri dish, almost hitting Evan in the face. The blonde boy jumped in his seat, staring at Jared in shock.

“You almost - you almost hit me in the eyes with - with sulfuric acid.” Jared blinked, looking between Evan’s face and the floor.

“Oh, fu-” he caught himself,”-dge. Sorry about that.” He didn’t sound very sorry, at least not to Connor. He may have been slightly biased, though.

“Let’s use Jared here as an example: please keep your diluted sulfuric acid still on the table- it’s already a stretch that the school’s allowed me to use it, please don’t dissolve any eyeballs ‘accidently.’ I value my job.” Jared slumped down in his seat, putting the petri dish down on the desk. Connor wanted to smirk, but restrained himself. “Now, I’m going to be assigning groups for the lab.”

Oh shit.

“We’re going to be in groups of three. Green, Price, and Cross, you’re one group. Rilow, Gabor, and Stiefel. Goranski, Dillinger, Rolan. Chandler, Mcnamara, and Duke. Kelly, Jacobs, and Conlon. Hansen, Kleinman, and Murphy.” She frowned. So did Connor. “Huh, there’s an odd number of students. Brown and Weisenbachfeld, you two can pair up, ok?” Connor didn’t hear any other names, his brain was too busy spinning. He didn’t want to do this stupid fucking project, especially with Jared.  
The bell rang just as Jared opened his mouth, ready to protest.

“The groups are final!” Ms. Shelby called as they packed up. “No negotiating!”

Fuck. Connor had been counting on the kid with the headphones, Michael something, to switch into Evan and Jared’s group. He wouldn’t have minded working with Michael’s partners, Lohst and Heere. Besides, he had bought weed from Michael before.

He followed Jared to Ms. Shelby’s desk to pick up his “extra work,” and grimaced. Jared purposely knocked into his shoulder as they walked out of the room, and he wondered if he might need to buy some more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is one of my favourite chapters like  
> connor is me  
> except im not a stoner
> 
> except for that one time i got trapped in a gas station restroom with this kid that was smoking weed that was a w i l d r i d e
> 
> don't fuck trees kids
> 
> \--also hock here hopping on to say that jareds dialogue in this chapter was one of the first things we planned

Connor had survived the rest of the day just barely, balancing on a mental tightrope, and the pot that he had been able to procure during lunch burning a hole in his pocket. He had a free period for the last class of the day, which came in handy when the days often became too much. He had exited AP Literature, satisfied with the course of the class. Mrs. Onera had welcomed him back, let him take his regular seat in the back of the class, and take some half-assed notes on predicate nominatives. Connor surprised himself by paying attention, even if he didn’t add a single thing to the class discussion (though that would have been difficult anyway, the way Alana dominated it), and even dutifully wrote his homework down on a spare sheet of paper. He wouldn’t do it, of course, but it was the thought that counted.

After AP Lit, he shoved his things in his locker, ready to make his way out back and smoke. He entered the courtyard, spotting Jared and Evan in the middle of what Connor thought was a heated debate. He edged closer, close enough to discern the two boy’s speech.

“Look, I’m just saying, did you fall out of a tree or off his dick?” He could hear Jared questioning, exasperation clear in his voice. “Because he’s the only person you hang around, the only thing you talk about - hell, I’ve heard more about Connor fucking Murphy than trees in the last few days, and you know how you are about your dearly beloved trees!” Connor watch as Evan stuttered a reply.

“N-No Jared, it’s not- we’re not-”

“Fuck off, Kleinman,” Connor snapped, interrupting Evan and storming up to them. “Evan can spend time with me if he fucking wants to. It’s not like you own him.” Evan twisted his head up to look at him, grateful shock spreading across his face along with the usual blush. Jared looked just as confused, as confused as Connor had made himself.

“Right,” Jared said slowly. “Ok, I’m just…” he began edging away, still giving Connor a weird look. “I’m gonna - go to class. Good day, sir.” he gave an awkward salute and walked away, clutching his backpack to his front.

Connor glowered after him until he was gone. “What is with that bitch and his stale memes?” he muttered under his breath. He heard Evan snicker softly, but didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he turned around, the itch to smoke even stronger than before.

“Where - Connor? Where are you - are you leaving school?”

“Yeah,” Connor confirmed as he kept walking. “I’m going to go smoke."

“Connor!” Evan ran up next to him. “You shouldn’t do that! You shouldn’t - you shouldn’t smoke, or do - do drugs. I don’t want - want you getting addicted or anything and I don’t even - it’s hard to get addicted to weed, I think, unless you’re - you’re Michael Mell or something, but it’s - it’s still a gateway drug and the - the… badder? No that’s not - the harder drugs, those are bad. Rough? I don’t know, but they’re not good for - for you, at all, and I don’t want you on - on, I don’t know, heroin or meth or something, because those - those can hurt you or even - even kill you, and I don’t want you - you to die -” Evan had continued trailing Connor behind the school as he rambled, and by the time his words stuttered to an uneasy close, Connor had lit a joint and was watching him with raised eyebrows and smoke curling through his lips. Evan huffed, his face flushing.

“Goddammit, Murphy,” he muttered under his breath, and Connor cracked a grin.

“Oops.” he replied sarcastically.

“Look- just- just before you’re too high to remember a-anything: my mom has the first round of the medication you were prescribed. You can come by my house to pick it up later- I mean, if you want, I can always bring them with me tomorr-”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Connor interrupted Evan again before he spun off into another rambled paragraph. Evan’s faint blush gained more prominence, and Connor took another drag off his joint, feeling better already. His head had begun to float, and the tight discomfort that was a near permanent visitor in chest had begun to slowly fade away. He felt good, something he hadn’t felt since his last high.

He glanced over at Hansen, who was sitting against the wall, the rest of his stuff laying beside him. There was a thick book open on his lap. He dropped down next to him, looking at Evan’s profile. He was smiling softly without the usual anxiety twitching on his face. He was clearly enjoying the words in front of him. Connor vaguely wondered what he was reading about, and tried leaning over to read over Evan’s shoulder.

“Please don’t smoke in my face.” Evan pleaded, not looking away from his book. Connor huffed and leaned away; but not before very purposefully letting the smoke drift into Evan’s face. The blonde boy frowned at him but continued to read.

“What’re you reading about?” Connor asked, leaning his head on the brick wall behind him and staring up at the sky.

“Trees,” Evan responded absently, flipping a page. Connor snorted.

“You’re reading about fucking trees?” Connor laughed at his wording in the back of his mind. Trees. Fucking.

“Yeah! I like trees. I - I was a ranger over the summer - well a junior ranger - at that park, the preserve-”

“But trees,” Connor said, cutting him off. “Why trees? That’s so..” he trailed off, searching for a word, “weird.”

Evan blushed bright red. “I - I don’t know… I guess it’s just - trees don’t judge you or - or think you’re strange or try to - to hurt you or be a bitch for no reason or fake- fake being your friend for car insurance.” He looked down, his blush deepening to a darker shade of red than Connor had assumed humanly possible.

“That’s specific, but-” he laughed without humor. “-I’ll go with it.” He glanced over at Evan again. The other boy was staring fixedly down at the pages, still bright red. “So, if you like trees so much, what’s your favourite?”

Evan’s head snapped up to look at him. “Huh?”

“What’s your favourite tree?” Connor repeated expectantly. Evan bit his lip and glanced down.

“Uh...salix babylonica, I guess.” He stuttered out, flipping through his book hastily. Connor blinked.

“The fuck is that?”

“Oh - oh that’s it’s scientific name, it’s - uh - it’s the weeping willow.” Evan seemed embarrassed, shakily pointing at an illustration in the corner. It was full color, sketch drawn by what Connor interpreted as a carefully maneuvered ink pen. Evan wasn’t offering anything else, so Connor tried to continue guiding the conversation towards what could be interpreted as coherency.

“So the willow’s your favourite tree?” Evan nodded, not looking Connor in the eye. “Huh. That’s cool.” Connor’s mind was a little hazy, but he had to admit- he had many fond memories of a willow tree by a river he used to play in when he was younger.

“Really?” Evan asked, hopeful, finally bringing his head up from his book.

“I mean, as far as trees go, it’s not bad I guess.” Connor was about to start laughing- of all the things he expected to be doing today, getting high and talking to Evan fucking Hansen about god damn trees was definitely nowhere near the top of the list. “Why do you like it so damn much?”

“Uh... it’s just - it’s calming to look at? If I could draw - which I can’t, my artistic skills are - are literal shit, they’re terrible - then I would draw - draw willows because they’re so… the curve of the branches I guess - it calms me down - and it’s - it’s pretty. There was this one a long time ago in - in my backyard - it’s gone now, we cut it down - but I climbed it a lot when I was - when I was little.”

“Oh. I’ve never drawn one.” Connor giggled slightly, trying to recall in the depths of his mind if he’d ever attempted to draw trees, or hell, any nature. He did portraits occasionally, on sheets that probably would’ve been his homework, but he never really did art seriously. He could, however, not seem to drive the word out of his mind. Willow, he repeated to himself, willow, willow, willow. He didn’t know why the word appealed to him so much.

“You, uh, draw?” Evan tried.

“Not really.” Connor didn’t really want to elaborate on his supposed artistic ability.

“Oh, um, okay.” Evan turned back to his book, and Connor took a final drag, flicking away his joint. It was weird to get high with someone next to him. He was normally alone, letting his mind fade away sat on his roof under the night sky, or in Zoe’s car, or sat up on top of the monkey bars at a local park.

Connor leaned his head back against the warm brick of the school. He was surprised he hadn’t bumped into anyone yet. This section of back wall was frequented by reckless couples looking for a quick hookup, or stoners like himself, trying to get high in peace. Evan seemed content with his book, though, so Connor decided to be content with his own thoughts.

He was feeling pretty fantastic. It was disorienting at first, but now, Connor was used to the floaty feeling that spun around his head, making him feel like he was one million worlds away. His body didn’t feel like shit when he was high, he felt free, able to escape everything for maybe two hours. It was confusing in real life, but when he was high, none of it matters, really.

He didn’t even know why he was so uncomfortable with himself. He assumed it was just normal self-hatred, but occasionally, when he chose to dig deeper, there was nothing he could find that was any more elaborate than he simply didn’t like it. It was so warped and angled, horribly broad and sharp. Connor didn’t like it, but, what else could he do?  
He pushed that train of thought out of his mind. He wasn’t going to use this high to mope around through layers of self-deprecation. Instead, he imagined one of those willow trees Evan had talked about, swaying gently in a soft breeze. It sounded better than this stupid brick wall and hard pavement. He considered pulling out a sheet of paper and trying to draw, but decided against it. Connor didn’t like his art, anyway.

Maybe, he could go back to that bridge and jump, but not because he’d fall to the water beneath the structure and die, but because he would float right above the water, trapped in between responsibility and irresponsibility. Connor smiled. That sounded nice. He could float away from all of this and easily never have to deal with anything ever again.

  
His wandering mind stumbled back to what Evan had called his favorite tree. For some reason, Connor still couldn’t get it out of his head. He liked the way it sounded, the way it had rolled off Evan’s tongue with ease. It was weird to think about a word, really get behind it. If you thought about it enough, it dissolved into gibberish, and you could never hear the word the same way. Connor didn’t want that to happen to the word Willow. He wanted to keep the word in his head, let it bounce around his conscious forever.

A shrill bell pierced Connor’s drugged-up mind, and students began pouring into the courtyard and out of doors, leaving the school grounds. Connor stood, stretching. He had already been out of the building for an hour, and he could feel himself coming down from his high, if only slightly.

He pushed through his hazy mind, and made sure to remind himself of what Evan had told him. He needed to go to the Hansens in maybe an hour, when he was halfway sobered, to pick up his medication. He looked to his side to discover that Evan had already left, sneaking away at some point while Connor had spaced out. Connor shrugged, deciding that he would have to go home and face ditching school yesterday at some point, and he’d rather do it like this than have to look Larry in the eye while completely grounded. With that, he clutched his messenger bag to his side, and set off, heading home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was going to be simple, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhhhh Shit Goes Down in this chapter and holy fuck we've spent so long building up to it and hinting at it and !! we're here!! enjoy!!
> 
> (ps jack goes by brooklyn now, just a psa)

Connor had forgotten how long the walk home was, and then realized why he normally attempted to get a ride with Zoe, even if she refused more than half the time. However, the walk home had lasted maybe thirty minutes, so he reached home before Zoe got out of jazz band. He jammed his key into the lock, jiggling it until it clicked open. It was a more successful venture than normal, and he flung open the door, storming inside and hoping to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

“Connor!” The sound of his father’s shout deepened his scowl, but he didn’t stop moving. He really didn’t give a fuck what Larry wanted right now. He stormed up the stairs and down the hallway towards his room, but suddenly stopped in his tracks. His mouth flew open.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” He shouted. “Who the fuck took off my door?”

“I did,” his father snapped from behind him, his voice slapping onto Connor’s ears. Connor began to see red. “You skipped school  _ again _ yesterday. This is your punishment.” His tone was level, but to Connor, every word was an scream, ringing through Connor’s mind.

“I skipped a day, so  _ what _ ? It’s not like I was going anywhere with my education anyway! How is taking away my fucking  _ door  _ supposed to help anything?” Connor was livid.

“You are refusing authority-” His voice was firm, unmoving. He sounded like he was explaining some to a petulant child.

“Yeah, because you’re a shitty guy to have in charge!” Connor bit back, and he smirked, seeing Larry beginning to lose his cool.

“I suspect the drugs are impairing your mind-” Larry tried, noting Connor’s red rimmed eyes and reusing an old argument.

“It’s just weed, it’s not really that dangerous-” Connor explained angrily, and Larry gave him a hard and steely glare.

“It’s illegal for a reason-” He hissed.

“I don’t give a  _ fuck _ if it’s illegal, there’s no reason for it to be-” Connor put extra infliction on the curse, watching Larry clench his fists, his face reddening.

“I will not tolerate this behavior in my house, fag-” Larry spat. Connor finally snapped.

“Fine!” Connor snarled. He stormed past his father and towards the stairs. “Fine, then I guess I’ll leave! Try not to screw up Zoe’s door - oh wait, I don’t need to worry about that, because she’s the fucking perfect child! You don’t need to worry about anything with her, because she’s never done anything wrong, right? She’s not a screwup, or a disappointment, or a  _ fag _ ! So have fun with your fucking perfect family, because I don’t want anything to do with it!”

As he stormed down the stairs, he caught sight of Zoe’s face, her school bag still in hand, standing in the kitchen with a gaping mouth, her eyes full of shock and almost… embarrassment, and white hot shame flooded his chest. That was a low blow, using his sister as an argument. God, he really was a screwup. He rushed past her, desperately blinking tears out of his eyes. Why did he say that?

Nevertheless, he slammed the door hard enough to shake the frame and stormed off down the street, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder. He was pretty sure the high had worn off entirely, and, if anything, the remaining buzz was from anger and not pot. If he shut his eyes for even a second, he could still see Larry’s face, flushed crimson and screwed up with anger. Connor was so fucking stupid. Why couldn’t he just fit right in with his family, why couldn’t his family act normal for one god damned second?

He didn’t know he he remembered exactly where the Hansen’s house was, but he kept walking nonetheless, trying to get his breathing to even out and trying to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. He almost envied Zoe. She was well-liked, talented, easy-going, conventionally attractive (not that Connor ever cared if she was pretty and he was ugly). But, she carried a trait that most of the the Murphy’s already held dearly in their heart: a flaming temper that could get set off by the smallest thing. Even if Zoe hid it better than he did, Connor had still seen her snap before.

He turned onto a road and looked around, trying to remember back two nights ago to the path he had taken with Evan. He could barely recall it, likely a result of how emotional he’d been at the time. He continued down the street, and caught sight of a familiar shade of blue. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, ridiculously glad to finally find the Hansens for someone that had only known them a couple days. He turned up the driveway and walked up to the front door, knocking at it hesitantly. He stood awkwardly, wondering if anyone would even answer the door.

His fears were averted when the handle twisted, and the door opened, revealing Heidi Hansen, tired as ever, in a pair of pale purple scrubs. She looked surprised to see him, but a smile still rose to her lips. She stepped aside to let him in. “It’s good to see you, Connor,” she greeted warmly. “You’re here for your medication, I assume?”

Connor ducked his head so his hair swung over his face. “My - uh - my father. We got into a bit of… a bit of a fight.” Heidi raised her eyebrows and placed a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. “But I need my meds too, yeah.”

“Come inside, I don’t think you really want go back home anytime soon.” She gave him a sad and tight lipped smile and stepped back, beckoning him inside. Connor looked up gratefully and followed her inside and into the living room where he had sat only yesterday. Heidi grabbed a white plastic bag and sat at the grey couch. Connor sat at the other end, picking at his nail polish uncertainly. He needed to paint them again, the polish was almost gone completely.

“Where’s Evan?” Connor asked. He hadn’t seen the smaller boy since school ended, and hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. Not that he even wanted to, anyway.

“He’s at Jared’s. They’re doing something doing for school. I didn’t press for details.” Heidi explained, pulling a pill bottle out of the bag, “Dr. Decker wants you to know that you have another session with him next Friday.” Connor groaned, and she continued, “As for your medication, he decided that you’re gonna try using fluoxetine first. It’s more commonly called prozac.” Heidi handed him the orange bottle of little green pills, “You take it once a day, in the morning. Don’t forget, because you could get withdrawal symptoms. Do you take any allergy medicine?”

“No.” Connor responded.

“Alright, you can’t take specific allergy meds with this pills. Most of what I’ve said is on the bottle. Can I trust you to keep them with you and follow the guidelines?” She asked. Connor mulled the idea over in his head. It’d be easy enough to hide it from his parents, but could he trust himself?

“Probably-” Connor corrected himself, “-I mean, yeah, you can.” Heidi nodded at the bottle, and Connor slid in carefully into his bag.

“I’ll give you my number, and if you have any problems at all you can call me. Take your first dose tomorrow morning.” She turned to a side table and scrawled her number on a sheet of paper, handing it to Connor.

“Okay, uh,” Connor felt awkward, “thanks. I mean, my mom’s tried to get me help before and, well, my dad… didn’t really approve. Thought it was a waste of money and that I needed to ‘buck up’ I guess.” This softness felt unnatural to Connor. He wasn’t used to openly sharing his emotions, being listened to, and he felt terribly awkward. There was a moment of silence before Heidi spoke up again,

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Heidi began, and immediately Connor knew he was going to mind. “What were you and your father arguing about?” Connor’s shoulders tensed.

“Nothing important,” he muttered, trying to draw into himself. Heidi frowned. 

“Connor, you can tell me.” Heidi insisted, “I’m a nurse, I’ve probably heard it all.” Connor regarded her offer, skeptical. Finally he sighed, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“He took my bedroom door,” he muttered. He heard Heidi suck in a breath sharply in a way that sounded almost agitated, but the hand she placed on his shoulder was comforting.

“What do you mean?” The tension in her voice was clear, like she was restraining her anger. Connor knotted his fingers together, thrills of anxiety running down his spine.

“Apparently, the school or Zoe called, and he found out I had ditched yesterday.” Connor admitted, “He took the door right off it’s hinges while I was in class today, and uh… we fought about it. He called me a fag, but what else is new?”

“Ah,” and now Heidi was definitely angry, Connor could practically feel it radiating off her. “Does he call… does he say…  _ that word _ often?”

Connor lifted one shoulder in a half-assed shrug. “I guess. It comes up a lot in our arguments, and we argue a lot.”

“Are you gay?” Heidi asked.

“I guess?” Connor shrugged. “I don’t think so… well, no, I guess I am, because I… well. I like boys. But I don’t… the word ‘gay’ doesn’t… feel… right.” He frowned, not really understanding himself. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Heidi said assuredly. Connor nodded, staring down at his lap. “Why doesn’t it feel right? Do you know?”

“No, I don’t know. It’s like… it’s like I’m the wrong… person. Or, not really that… I mean, it’s like I hate who I physically am, but I… God, this hard to describe.” He buried his face in his hands. He felt like such a freak. “I sound crazy, don’t I?”

“Not at all,” Heidi reassured him. “In fact, Connor... “ she paused and licked her lips, like she was thinking. “That sounds almost like dysphoria.”

“The fuck is dysphoria?” Connor muttered, still not lifting his head.

“You see…” Heidi paused again, then started again with a different approach. “Connor, do you know what a trans person is?”

Connor frowned. “I’ve heard people say it before,” he said slowly. “But no, not really.”

“The full term,” Heidi began, speaking carefully. “Is transgender.” She paused again, and Connor looked up at her. She saw his confusion and continued. “To be transgender is to be biologically one gender but to identify as another - my brother, Kyle, he was my sister when I was a kid -”

“No,” Connor interrupted. “No, no, I’m not… I’m not a  _ freak _ , I’m not a… I’m not a fag! I’m  _ normal _ , I swear-” he broke off, dropping his face into his hands and turning away from Heidi, trying to pull himself into the smallest space he could. He wanted to disappear, never having to think again and never having to speak with anyone again.

“Connor, I-”

“No! I can’t be, I’m not, I’m not, I swear I’m not!” He yelled, fully aware of his volume. Heidi didn’t speak up again, and Connor curled up into the tightest ball he could make.

_ Transgender? _ He ran the word over in his head a couple times, until it didn’t sound so foreign. Was he…? He let out a breath. He wasn’t. He wasn’t transgender. He wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. He refused to be… to be what his father had always seen him as.

But what if his father was right? What if he was different? What if he was…a girl?

He thought back over the tumult his mind had been going through, how warped his body felt, how he’d always felt so out of place, like he was misinterpreting everything around him, misinterpreting himself.

Himself? Herself? He let out a small groan. He  _ wasn’t _ , goddammit…

_ Just try it, _ he told himself.  _ Just to check, even though you’re not. You’ll feel better once you know. _ He swallowed hard.

He… She imagined  ~~ him ~~ herself in h...er room. Imagined the door cracking open, glancing up to see Zoe.

“Hi Zoe,” she said, slightly confused to see the younger Murphy in her doorway. “Do you need something?”

Zoe shrugged. “Can’t a girl talk to her big sister?”

Connor jolted.

“Oh shit. Oh,  _ no _ .”

“Connor, honey-” Heidi tried, clasping a hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“Oh my god. This… this is so…I’m a girl. A girl. I’m female. A she, a her. I’m a fucking girl.” She paused. “Oh my god. I’m straight.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which most things in Connor's head go to complete shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're bippity boppity back for another week of weeping willow in which you actually figure out why this story got it's name

“That’s great, Connor,” Heidi told her softly. “It’s wonderful that you’ve found who you are, it really is.”

“Larry’s going to hate me even more. He’s going to… he’s going to fucking disown me. I’m not going to have a family anymore - not that I really had one in the first place anyway but-”

“Connor.” Heidi’s voice was soft, but still authoritative enough to stop Connor from continuing. “It’s okay-”

“It’s not fucking okay! I’m not fucking okay! Larry will have my head and it’s all my damn fault-” Connor began raising her voice

“I’ve always wanted a daughter!” Heidi yelled back, her eyes wide. Both stopped abruptly at the outburst. Tense silence swallowed the room whole. Connor took a deep breath, trying to level herself out. She heaved a heavy sigh, tears collecting in the corner of her eyes. She uncurled partially, letting Heidi put a hand on her shoulder.

“I hate myself.” She muttered, letting the tears in her eyes roll down her cheeks, tracing a familiar path down her face and dripping off her chin. It all made sense, horrible ugly sense, like a missing gear in a piece of misshapen machinery that had finally clicked in place, creating a fully functioning monster.

She hated it. Hated how good it felt referring to herself as “she,” hated that she was a freak, just like everyone had previously thought. Still, she couldn’t deny: it felt good to say she, so good to finally have a door opened in her mind. It certainly explained a lot. Why she painted her nails besides the fact it pissed Larry off, why it just felt  _ right _ to keep her hair long. The stupid nightmare she’d had two nights ago. Heidi saw this, saw the tears in her eyes and forcibly pulled Connor out of her balled up position, and instead pulled her into a tight hug. Connor relaxed into her grip, letting Heidi rub gentle circles into her back.

“Connor, you’re so strong.” Heidi gently praised. Connor didn’t want to believe her. “I remember when Kyle told me about himself. I was twelve, he was fourteen.” She continued soothingly, “We were in my room. My parents had been arguing earlier, and I just hid and read a book when he walked in and asked if he could talk to me. We got along better than a lot of people thought we did. We argued about petty stuff, but what siblings don’t? Anyway, he asks if he can trust me. I just nod and he sits besides me on my bed. I remember, he looked so conflicted. He opened his mouth a few times when he finally spit it out. He said,

“Heidi, I’m a boy.” and I asked him what he meant. He didn’t use the word transgender, I don’t think. He just talked about what you talked about: not feeling right in his body, not really connecting to the idea of being a girl. We talked for a long time. He didn’t want Mom and Dad to know, but he still wanted me to. He told me he hated his name, Kayla. He said he wanted to be called Kyle. He cried, and I hugged him, just like I’m hugging you. He didn’t come out to my parents until he left for college, and he didn’t start transitioning until after that. I haven’t seen him for years, but we still talk sometimes. I miss him.” Heidi finished her story, almost cradling Connor. There were so many questions swimming around Connor’s mind. She had calmed down a little bit while listening to Heidi’s story, but she was still anxious.

“What does ‘transitioning’ mean?” Connor asked carefully.

“He got top surgery.” Heidi smiled slightly at Connor’s confused look. “They removed his breasts, and he started taking testosterone. My parents weren’t pleased, but he was an adult at that point, so they couldn’t do anything. Some trans people transition because it makes them more comfortable in their bodies. Some don’t. It’s all a personal decision.”

Connor took in this information hesitantly. Would he- no, she- ever want to do that? Change herself to look more feminine? Her head was still spinning, reeling with the pure amount of information. If she had known this discovery would be made, she would have brought another blunt. She was already far too hyped up for this.

“Connor?” Heidi asked. She looked up at her.

“I know this is a lot right now, but that feeling you described earlier? What I called dysphoria?” Connor nodded. “Sometimes, it helps if you have a name that matches your gender. With Kyle, he hated the name Kayla. My mom loved it, one of her sisters was named Kayla. For Kyle, the name just reminded him of everything he didn’t like about himself. If you don’t chose one right away, just know that it’s an option. Kyle wanted a name that sounded similar to his old one. You can literally choose whatever makes you the most comfortable. It’s okay if you don’t have one now, I just wanted to throw it out there.”

Connor mulled this over. It would be weird referring to herself as anything other than Connor. However, if she thought about it, in her almost eighteen measly years of living, she’s never really liked her name. She associated it so much with Larry. Fucking Larry, who wanted a star-athlete for a son, who wanted a golden boy. She couldn’t live with Connor. Or hell, anything that sounded remotely like it. If she couldn’t go by Connor, what would she use?

“Willow.” she replied automatically. The name was almost a knee-jerk response. She didn’t even know where the name came from, other than it made her feel good.

“What?” Heidi asked.

“I want that name. Willow.” she repeated to Heidi. She repeated it in her mind. It felt good. It felt  _ right. _ Connor- no, Willow smiled to herself. Heidi was quiet for a minute, like she was thinking.

“I love it, Willow.” Heidi smiled, and Willow felt another few tears slip out from her eyes. Willow looked around, her gaze landing on a clock perched on the wall. It proclaimed the time, nearing six o’clock. WIllow knew she had family dinner at about six-thirty. She hated it, but knew she had to be there, especially if she wanted to avoid getting in anymore trouble.

“I need to get home.” Heidi loosened her grip on Willow, and she sat up, wiping her face, “Th-thank you.” she reluctantly said, She was grateful, but wasn’t quite sure how to express it. Heidi nodded.

“Do you need a ride?” Heidi inquired. Willow didn’t want her help.

“I can walk.” Actually, she probably would hate herself if she had to walk again, but didn’t need Heidi Hansen to pick up after her. She hated how helpful Heidi had been, it made her feel indebted, unable to ever repay her.

“I need to pick Evan up anyway. It won’t be a problem.” Heidi insisted, and Willow found herself agreeing. She stood, picking up her messenger bag and wrapping her arms protectively around herself. Heidi smiled at her. 

The ride was uneventful, and Willow found herself wondering why Heidi was being so nice to her. She didn’t deserve it, really. She didn’t deserve any of what Heidi had done for her. She wished she could stay here forever, turn away from her street and keep driving until there was nothing left.

But she couldn’t. After all this, all that she’s realized today, of course she had to sit through a family dinner. The idea didn’t sound appealing at all, sitting at a table, having to look Larry dead in the eye as Zoe babbled about her precious little life, watch as Larry looked her over like a slab of meat on the cutting board. He would find something he didn’t like, the length of her hair, or the red tint in her eyes, or the bags that lay like heavy weights underneath her lashes, and his fingers would tighten on his silverware.

And there would be yelling. Lots of yelling. Cynthia would cry again, and Zoe would glare at everyone, muttering sarcastic curses under her breath, eventually stalking up to her room and slamming the door. Willow would storm off, like she always does, eventually climbing back into her room through the window and falling onto her bed, half-asleep, and waiting until Cynthia or Larry would bang at her door, trying to summon her out again come morning.

Heidi turned a corner, and Willow retreated into herself as she pulled up at her house. She mumbled a thanks and slid out of the car door, slamming it shut. She trudged up the driveway, reluctant to enter this hellhole she called home. She had her pills in her bag, she could hear them clacking together, hitting the sides of their tiny, translucent orange bottle. It was grating against her mind, berating her thoughts with the dozens of tiny clicks. 

The door was gratefully unlocked, and she jiggled the knob with practiced skill, sliding it open silently and entering her house. She didn’t bother calling out a greeting, immediately storming upstairs to her bedroom. She cringed at the missing door, and made sure to call out a spiteful, “fuck you!” before throwing herself onto the bed. She’d only been here two minutes, and she already wished she was back on the soft grey couch at the Hansens’.

“Connor, sweetheart, come down for dinner please!” She heard her mother call. She pulled herself to her feet with a groan, tossing her bag into a corner and stomping down the stairs with as much force as possible. She caught a glimpse of Cynthia, wearing a flower-patterned apron and spooning spaghetti onto four different plates. If she craned her neck, she could see Zoe slouched down in her chair, looking at something on her phone, and Larry, lounging at the head of the table and checking his email. She paused just outside the doorway. Odd what a perfect family they appeared to be, with her removed from the picture. Zoe smothered a giggle and put down her phone. The moment she caught sight of Willow, the lingering amusement faded from her face and she turned to look at Cynthia.

“Mom, can we eat now?” She asked. Cynthia swept over with the plates, setting them on the table, along with a shaker of parmesan cheese and a bowl of salad. It was picturesque, and Willow wrinkled her nose.

“I fucking hate pasta.” Willow remarked, her voice void of emotion. Cynthia’s plastered-on smile strained.

“I’m sorry, honey.” She tried. Larry snorted disdainfully, putting his phone away.

“Don’t be. He’s just being obstinate.” He replied. Cynthia untied her apron and sat down at the table.

“I’m right here.”

“Shut up Connor. If I’m eating it, you’re eating it too.” Zoe snapped. Willow rolled her eyes.

“But you like pasta.” she complained, slumping into her chair.

“Oh my god, can you at least pretend you want to be around us for maybe ten minutes? Then you can go back to being an angsty teen stereotype-”

“Connor! Zoe!” Cynthia pulled the fake smile back onto her face. “Please.” Willow scoffed and reached for the parmesan, unscrewing the top and dumping half the shaker onto her plate before setting it down. Zoe gagged.

“At least put the top back on.” She complained.

“Put the top back on yourself.” Willow retorted, picking up her fork and stabbing the pasta with more force than strictly necessary.

“You’re disgusting.”

Larry cleared his throat. “Connor, stop antagonizing your sister.”

“She was the one insulting my eating habits.” They weren’t exactly “eating” habits, but Willow didn’t care to elaborate.

“That’s not eating, that’s disgusting. Mom, please tell him he can’t do that. That’s not pasta anymore.” Zoe whined.

“I don’t like pasta,” Willow repeated in a snappish tone.

“So we’ve heard,” Zoe muttered, shooting her a nasty look.

“Mom, tell Zoe she’s a bitch,” Connor mocked. Cynthia muffled a gasp. Zoe scowled down at her plate. Larry took a deep breath and slammed his fork down, taking an angry sip of water.

“Connor Michael Murphy, apologize to your sister. Now.”

“Is there a choice B?” Willow picked at her food, not making eye contact.

“This isn’t multiple choice, Connor. Apologize.” Larry’s voice was forceful.

“Everything’s multiple choice if you try hard enough.”

“Oh really?” This was a challenge. Larry was challenging her opinion, testing her to see her next move.

Willow nodded sagely. “There are several things I could do right now.”

“Like what?” Larry asked, a look of disdain on his face. Willow scowled.

“Like this.” She overturned her water on to the table and stormed out of the room, kicking her chair over on the way out.

God, she hated family dinners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love heidi hansen and the murphys are trying their best  
> honestly willow needs to chill a lil bit but so do i  
> also brook doesnt like pasta this is unacceptable   
> tumblrs r @hocksquawks and @brooklynsbiggestbitch and i love u all


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month has passed, and Willow is doing... pretty okay, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> annnnd heres another one oof  
> brookie we gotta write more or were gonna run out of chapters ahh  
> ALSO i L o v e ur comments pls validate me and talk about this dumbass story

It had been a month, and Willow had concluded that the only real problem with realizing her identity was the dysphoria. It had been bad enough to be feeling it before - now that she had a name to put with it, it only reminded her of everything she couldn’t change. Today was particularly bad, one of the days where she had to hunch her shoulders forward and let her hair fall over her face in attempt to hide because maybe if she hid from the world, she would fade away into the background until she didn’t have to feel anymore.  
She’d managed to make it through the school day only skipping one class, and now she was trudging down the sidewalk on her way to the Hansens’, wallowing in her thoughts. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, like she could ignore how flat it was.

She also couldn’t quite remember if she’d taken her meds this morning, which, in reality, was probably half of the reason she was in such a mood. She might’ve taken it, but still couldn’t quite figure out if she had managed to get out of the door today, as she had been trying to write something last minute for Mrs. Onera. Therapy was still the same bitch it was a month ago, but Willow tried to at least imagine that being on medication was helping her.

Her phone buzzed, she could hear it through her bag. She stopped, unlatching the straps on the bag and rummaging through it until she located her phone. She clicked on it, reading the text notification.

 **fucking larry** : [3:42pm] Your door is back for now. Don’t make any more stupid decisions, or it may be gone for good.

She blinked in slight disbelief and decided against responding, turning her phone off and dropping it her bag. She didn’t know if she wanted to believe him. She was scared he was lying, simply trying to let her get her hopes up, only to bring them crashing down when she returned to her house. Still, as much as she wanted to quash the feeling, a kind of hopeful giddiness rose in her chest. If she had a door, that would mean privacy, something that had been a foreign idea to her for the past four weeks. She could finally sit alone without feeling constantly looked at and scrutinized.

She turned her attention back to the sidewalk. The route to Hansen’s home was practically memorized by this point. She turned one last time, carrying herself down the street with a bit more bounce in her step then she cared to admit. She turned up the driveway of the worn blue house, coming up to the door and debating whether or not she should knock. Sure, she and Evan had become a lot closer, but she didn’t know if she could just come in. She raised her hand up to knock, only to have the door opened before her, revealing Evan, giving her an awkward half-grin, his cast hanging loosely to his side.

“C-Connor! Come on in.” He gestured clunkily, his cast bearing Willows long and scrawling handwriting. She cringed inwardly at her name. It looked so unnatural in big block letters, yelling at her, telling her that she was wrong, all of her was wrong. She shook her head, trying to snap out of it, and followed Evan inside.

She turned the hallway and walked into his room, tossing her bag to the side and sitting on Evan’s bed. Willow felt Evan’s worn duvet, her hand rubbing the soft grey and red plaid fabric soothingly between her long fingers. Evan sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, his binder opened beside it and a pile of textbooks stacked up on the ground. At the insistence of Evan (or, more likely, Evan’s anxiety) Willow had begun to attempt her homework more frequently. She reached inside her bag, pulling out a worn binder that managed to hold all of her work, extracting an equally worn paperback from one of the pockets.

Mrs. Onera had assigned the book Wuthering Heights as the most recent class reading, meaning that Willow was constantly marking things in the paperback, or taking notes in a purple composition book she had stolen from Zoe. The amount of characters were exhausting, and Willow, who normally devoured books, was about at her breaking point.  
It was so dumb, that she had stayed alive through medication adjustments, therapy sessions, and just plain old bad days, but now, this stupid book was the reason she was losing it. She marked in a few more notes about a plot point that seemed trivial, but she had a feeling Mrs. Onera would quiz them on it, and then angrily snapped the book shut, trying to make her head stop buzzing. Why would the one AP class she was forced to take have to assign so much homework?

It was the adrenaline left over from the text that was make her eyes pulse in their sockets. Having her door back meant that Larry was trying, and as much as Willow hated him, she was actually excited to go back home. He could even be lying, and that’s why part of her gut was still twisting.

If anything, it meant that she couldn’t do her homework right now, and it was useless to try.

She picked at a growing hole in her skinny jeans. After loosening a few more threads, one insisted on pulling the fabric, and she let out a loud huff of exasperation. Evan turned away from his laptop, his brow contorted.

“Where were you in Biology today? I- uh- missed you.” His eyes widened, “Oh my god, that sounded weird, I’m so sorry-”

“I went to the park and took a nap. I couldn’t take school’s shit for a bit.” Willow interrupted.

“Oh.” Evan seemed uncomfortable, as he always did when Willow spoke of breaking rules.

“Yeah.” Willow looked down, picking at her nail polish. She felt oddly elated, but anxiety still gnawed at her stomach. She was worriedly impulsive, and she wondered if Evan could tell. She wanted to keep talking to him, but she couldn’t find anything to talk about, and the words kept getting lost in her head. Evan sensed the tense silence, and tried for something else.

“Can you believe that the next lab for Ms. Shelby is next week and she’s making us keep our lab partners from earlier?” his tone was neutral, but Willow could see that Evan was dreading another lab.

Willow groaned in disgust. “I fucking hate being partnered with Kleinman.”

“He’s not so bad when you get to know him- well no, ok, he is, but it’s more tolerable, or-or maybe I just think that because he’s my- my only friend... well not anymore, you’re my friend now, but he used to be. He’s… he’s just Jared. He’s not a complete dick.”

“He’s still at least a partial dick.” Willow scoffed. Evan let out a soft giggle. “Maybe he’ll actually shut up and pay attention this time instead of finishing his work in the first fifteen minutes of class and then going around and seeing if anyone will pay him to drink whatever was in the petri dish.”

“He’s been doing that since eighth grade, I don’t think there’s much hope,” Evan informed her, shrugging. Willow smiled. She’d been doing that a lot more often recently, since she and Evan had spent more time together.

“Some people never change.”

And some people do. Willow fiddled with the pages in her book, not really reading the words. The silence that fell felt charged, like there was something else she needed to say. She swallowed down words that hadn’t yet formed, unsure what else Evan would need to hear.

“Have you?” Willow blinked in surprise, looking up at the blond boy, who seemed just as confused by the words that had left his mouth. At her bewildered expression, he elaborated. “Since I found you on the bridge, I mean. Do-do you still-if you were on the bridge now, would you jump?”

Willow looked back down at the book, a frown slipping onto her face. She was still depressed, still dysphoric, still hurting, but did suicide still seem so appealing? She remembered when she was sitting on the bridge, and she’d had her vision of falling off, of sinking silently into the void and letting the air rush out of her throat in a cacophony of bubbles. Back then, it had seemed like paradise, like wonder. Now it seemed dark and stained with fear. Now, she thinks that if she fell, she might scream. She let out a shuddering breath.

“If you were in that tree now, would you let go?” Evan didn’t answer. Willow looked him in the eye, searching for any answers that he may let flit across his features. He remained silent. She tried again, prompting, “Evan?”

“I don’t know.” He answered, breaking her gaze to look down at his cast. He picked at the plaster, a fine white powder covering his fingertips. He was set to get the cast off next week, and Willow wondered if he was somehow attached to it. What did it mean to him? Was he ashamed of it, or was he ashamed of what he hadn’t accomplished? Willow frowned, concerned.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” she murmured. “I-uh-I’d be pretty sad if you weren’t around anymore. It’d be pretty shitty doing labs with only Kleinman.” Evan laughed a little, and she smiled. “Hey, I’m serious.”

“I know you are.”

“Good.” Willow wasn’t quite sure what else to say. She cleared her throat and flipped Wuthering Heights closed again, dropping it off the side of the bed onto the floor near her bag. “Evan?” He looked up from where he was scribbling down his Biology homework. She still felt like something was unsaid, that she wasn’t being completely truthful with him.  
She needed to tell him about her soon, or else she probably couldn’t handle it anymore. Hell, his mother knew and he didn’t, and Willow was beginning to find it very hard to keep lying to him. Could she tell him now? What could she lose that she wasn’t already accustomed to losing?

“Evan?” she tried again. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Evan looked up from his notes.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Can I tell you something?” God, that sounded awful. Evan nodded.

“Of course.”

“I-uh-ok-um-I’m not...normal.” He looked confused, which was understandable, because Willow was confusing even herself. “No, that’s wrong-well it’s not, I’m not normal, but that’s not what this is about and you just, you need to know, but I’m not sure how to say it-”

“Connor, you’re rambling,” Evan interrupted. “That’s my thing, not yours.”

She gave a soft chuckle and then pointed at him. “There. That’s not my name.”

“What?” He looked confused again.

“My name’s not Connor. I don’t want you to call me Connor.”

“Oh.” Evan didn’t look any less bewildered. “Uh, what name-”

“I’m trans!” She blurted.

Evan blinked once. Twice. Three times. Then the confusion melted off his face and he scooted closer, looping a shaky arm around her shoulders. “Is this ok?” She nodded. “Good. Good. Um- you know I’m not going to judge you or anything, right? How you feel is perfectly valid. I’m still- I’m still your friend either way.” She nodded, and it was silent for a few moments before Evan spoke again. “You mentioned a name?”

“Yeah. Uh, my name’s Willow. Not-um-not Connor.” For whatever reason, Evan seemed flustered, red flooding his cheeks. He coughed slightly and pulled his arm off her.

“O-Okay, Willow. That’s a- a very… pretty name. I like it.” He smiled. “A-uh-a pretty tree, too. I like willows. Very nice trees, yes.” Willow gave him an odd look.  
“Are you ok?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” He pulled himself together, and regained his seriousness. “Thank you for telling me, Willow. It, uh, it means a lot that you… well… that you trusted me enough. Uh-who else knows?”

Willow coughed. “Uh, your mom.”

“Oh.”

“She was-uh-she was the one to help me figure out what was I was… feeling.”

“I see.” Evan shifted awkwardly. “That’s… cool.” He gave her a soft smile, and Willow still felt relieved.

She was okay, it all was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> evan is a bisexual icon ok  
> and i love jared hes an asshole but hes my favorite asshole
> 
> \--hock out


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was one of those rare days when they weren’t at each other's throats, where the universe had smiled on the two younger Murphy’s and allowed them to coexist peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this almost didnt get posted im a mess  
> also updates may slow down bc school and mental shit im sorry yall ap classes are kicking my ASS  
> brook n i love yalls comments and kudos they make our cold hearts happy  
> also zoe is gay did i mention  
> tumblrs: brooklynsbiggestbitch and hocksquawks

“Your music is garbage, Connor.” Zoe playfully quipped, reaching to turn the knob on the car radio.

It was one of those rare days when they weren’t at each other's throats, where the universe had smiled on the two younger Murphy’s and allowed them to coexist peacefully. Zoe had agreed to give Willow a ride home, for cross country was meeting a bit later than usual because the coaches had a meeting after school. If anything, Willow was grateful for the break from walking. And so, the two sat in the front seats of Zoe’s tiny blue car, blasting whatever came on the radio and surprisingly, having what seemed like an enjoyable time.

“You just don’t know what true art sounds like.” Willow jested back, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She reached across to the radio, turning off some shitty pop song and instead turning the station back to her regular alternative rock station. Zoe protested, reaching for the knob again, but suddenly, a familiar tune drifted towards the siblings. Zoe’s hand paused, pulling back, as an old They Might Be Giants song came through the tinny speakers. Willow watched as a grin fell across Zoe’s features and spread to her own, as memories of childhood infiltrated their minds.

Willow took this moment to admire Zoe’s face. It was soft and feminine, nothing like the sharp angles of Willow’s own features. Her makeup was very well done, a skill that Willow had admired long before her desire to replicate it. She looked like a goddess, ethereal, immortal, and Willow yearned for that same effect, a familiar knot beginning to twist in her stomach. 

Her gaze traveled down to Zoe’s floral dress, and she wished that her body looked like that, that she could wear those same things that Zoe wore without stares or shame. It hurt her heart to know that she probably never could do all that her brain wished it could do. She crossed her arms over her chest. Why must her dumb brain ruin every good moment in her measly life?

Zoe stopped at a stop sign, noticing this change in behavior.

“Hey, uh, is everything okay?” She asked, concerned. Her tone was strange, like the words were foreign on her tongue, that Willow’s well being was not a thing she thought of often.

“Huh?” Willow looked up, “Yeah, everything’s fine. Also, if you don’t stop now, you’re gonna pass our house completely.” 

Zoe braked abruptly, causing the two the lurch forward. She laughed.

“Alright dipshit, this is your stop.” She smiled at Willow.

“Sure thing, shrimp.” Willow unbuckled and opened her door, stepping onto her driveway and waving a quick goodbye to Zoe before shutting the door behind her.

Willow stood, watching Zoe drive away, the smile lingering on her lips, and the ache in her heart growing more painful. She turned, walking into the house, her hands returning to their tightly crossed position on her chest.

She ascended the stairs, flipping on her light in her room and flopping onto her bed, letting the unkempt navy sheets wrinkle beneath her. She rolled over, looking up at the spinning ceiling fan, and contemplating if she had the motivation to do her homework. Her most recent quiz on Wuthering Heights had been solid B+ work, acceptable, and much better than anything before. Math was more of an issue, but in Willow’s opinion, Mr. Walker could eat her entire ass before she did any of his homework.

Willow thought again of Zoe, her intensely feminine mannerisms, and how directly they contrasted Willow’s masculine traits. She was suddenly overcome with how much she hated all of her features, everything that kept that awful knot in chest from dissolving completely, the thing that keeps the constant nausea in her stomach from dissipating.

She rolled onto her side, blinking tears out of her eyes. Her finger shook in her hard-clenched fists, brought tightly to her chest. She hated it all. Her face, her form, her everything. She sat up, letting the hot tears roll down her cheeks. She caught a glance of herself in her mirror, immediately looking away, not wanting to take in the mess she’d become. 

What could she do? This feeling would never stop, she realized. Sure, it would ebb and flow like a sadistic ocean, but it would never tire, never cease. Her throat was closing, she couldn’t breathe, why? Why? 

Her hands found the hem of her shirt. She ripped it off, breathing heavily, her hands scrabbling at her disgustingly bare chest. She held the shirt gingerly in her hands, burying her face in it, letting the soft cotton wipe away her tears. She took a steadying breath, clutching the shirt to her naked chest. She stood shakily, restless, and wandered out of her room and into Zoe’s, looking around cautiously.

All around her were pictures of Zoe with her friends, Zoe with her guitar, Zoe looking happy. Willow winced, realizing she wasn’t in any of them. She looked in the mirror outside of Zoe’s closet, and realized, why would anyone want her in a photo? She panicked, unable to keep looking at herself, and reached for the closet door, flinging it open.

She gasped. She had been seeing these clothes for years, but with no Zoe attached to them, they were just clothes. Clothes for anyone, beautiful, feminine clothes.

She reached for something, his hands landing on a navy blue striped blouse hidden in back corner. It seemed that it was a little bit too big for Zoe, and that was probably why it was so unused. Willow quickly shimmied it off the hanger and held it up, marveling at the design.

It had a low, scooped neckline and short, cap sleeves. It traveled down, a fake bow at the waist, and then flared out like a small skirt. It was a sheer, chiffon fabric with an undershirt underneath. She hastily slid it over her head, struggling to wrestle it on. It was a touch to small for her, but it was surprising that it fit, period. She adjusted it, looking at herself in the mirror. She teared up again, but not from hatred.

It looked so correct, so painfully right, seeing herself in a girl’s shirt. She couldn’t find words within herself. It was like someone had come and taken her voice, exchanging it for the euphoria of the knot in her chest loosening enough to let her breathe. She was afraid if she spoke, she would break it, break all that was so fragilely held close to her heart.

She spun slowly, feeling the fabric on her skin. She shut her eyes, daring to imagine what it would be like to feel like this all the time. Clothing like Zoe’s, hair brushed and fanning out in long curling waves behind her. Makeup done, nails painted something other than black.

Makeup done.

Was there anything that was stopping her from that part of the image? Her eyes opened wide. Makeup came off easily, right? Her eyes scanned across the room, landing on Zoe’s vanity. There were little drawers on either side of the mirror. That seemed to most likely place to store makeup.

She sat at the vanity, glancing at herself in the mirror before looking down at the little drawers, pulling one open and looking inside. Little variously colored tubes lay inside, some that Willow recognized, and other that she couldn’t put a name to. She recognized the tinted tubes of lipstick and pulled one out, inspecting the color on the bottom. It was a subtle pink shade, and Willow popped off the top, thinking back to all the times she had seen her mother or Zoe apply lipstick. She twisted the tube, letting the lipstick pop out just over the rim and lifted it to her lips, carefully swatching it across the skin.

It was then that she heard a door slam, and feet come running halfheartedly up the stairs. Willow froze, unsure of what to do. It was Zoe, she knew her footsteps, but she also knew that Zoe wouldn’t take very well to Willow sat in her room, wearing a girl’s shirt. She closed the tube of lipstick, letting it drop from her fingers. Zoe slammed open her door and froze in the frame, shocked.

“Connor, what the fuck?”

Willow licked her lips. “Uh… surprise?” Zoe stepped further into the room, confusion written clearly over her features. She looked Willow over, wearing the too-small blouse and shaky lipstick and a look of fearful shame.

“It’s less of a surprise and more of an ‘oh my god, what the hell.’” Zoe looked more confused than angry, “You’ve pulled some weird shit before, but this has got to be the weirdest.”

Willow’s chest felt empty, dull panic flooding her mind, buzzing in her ears, berating the back of her eyes. This was it, she thought. This is the moment where everything collapses.

“I- um, it’s a… a school- project?” She tried.

“Bullshit. I’ve seen your work ethic.” Zoe’s face was void of any visible emotion.

Willow let out a low, calculated breath.

“It’s not like you’d care, anyway.” she spoke softly, bitterly. Zoe opened her mouth to protest, but Willow kept going, speaking over her. “I’m going to walk out of your room and leave you to your precious little life. We’ll both forget that anything ever happened.”

Zoe’s face was a tumult of emotions, and Willow stepped forward, towards the door. She walked until she was face to chest with Zoe, and tried to push past her.

“Zoe, just let me leave.” she said warningly. Zoe held tight, blocking the door.

“No.”

“Zoe, you don’t want to hear my problems. Let me out.” Willow gritted her teeth and pushed lightly against her sister’s arms, afraid to hurt her. 

“No.” She looked at Willow, a kind of steely determination in her gaze. “Connor Murphy, you are my brother, and, believe it or not, siblings usually trust each other and can, shocker, actually tell each other things. I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s wrong.”

There was a beat of silence where Willow froze, unaware of her next move. She was already in an incriminating enough position. She could just push past and forget any of this ever happened, but what if she didn’t?

“That’s the issue there.” Willow felt the words leave her lips. She stepped back into Zoe’s room, letting her sister relax off the door frame. Zoe’s brow contorted.

“What do you mean? We may not have the healthiest relationship, but-” Willow cut her off, taking a breath to steel herself.

“I’m not your brother.”

“I still don’t understand, Connor. It’s not like we’re still in elementary school and you can convince me I’m adopted or whatever.” Zoe was bewildered, her face screwed up in confusion. Willow swallowed. There was no turning back now.

“I’m your sister.” The phrase was whispered like a prayer, like if she said it any louder she would break. Zoe looked her up and down, the gears turning in her head. Willow shut her eyes tight, bracing herself for whatever would come next, the yelling, the screaming, the summoning of their parents.

But it never came.

Instead, when Willow dared to crack her eyes open she saw Zoe wrapped tightly around her waist, Zoe’s head on her chest. She almost didn’t know how to react, lamely putting her arms around her younger sibling’s back.

“Thank you.” Zoe whispered. She looked up at Willow. “You know, you’re okay with me- I mean, Alana’s president of the GSA and like, I know a lot about… stuff like that. I’ve got your back, Connor. I’m not here to judge.” She pulled away. Willow smiled at her.

“So you’re okay with me being… you know?” Willow asked, doubt still lingering in the back of her mind.

“Yes Co- yes, I’m fine with it.” Willow smiled when the younger girl caught herself on the name. “Have you, uh- Do you want me to use different pronouns for you?”

“She/her are the ones I like, yeah.” Willow affirmed, pressing her face into Zoe’s hair so they wouldn’t have to meet eyes. Zoe smiled widely.

“Oh my god, I finally have a sister. If you ever get an actually fashionable wardrobe, I’m totally stealing your clothes.”

“Zoe!” Willow complained, pulling away.

“Oh, and I have got to teach you to do makeup. That shade doesn’t quite work for you.” Zoe babbled.

Willow smiled. She could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the hurt and suffering! this'll update on sundays
> 
> come bother us on tumblr if you need to scream, rant, or casually converse on the subject of Dear Evan Hansen @brooklynsbiggestbitch and @hocksquawks


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